A Stitch in Time
by TimeAndTide
Summary: After Jeffrey mysteriously collapses, Bogg embarks on a solo mission that will determine the fate of their partnership. [CONCLUSION. Bogg and Jeffrey find themselves with one last loose end to tie up in Jeffrey's timeline.]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: And now for something . . . slightly more ambitious. Never thought I'd embark on what might turn out to be an epic, but the size and persistence of this plot bunny are demanding nothing less. Of course, the $64,000 question is: can "Voyagers!" and "epic" exist in the same conceptual space? Will contain some angst, some adventure, and a whole lot of backstory.

Disclaimer: Phineas Bogg and Jeffrey Jones belong to Scholastic Productions, James D. Parriott Productions, and Universal-MCA Entertainment.

A STITCH IN TIME

The grass was long, lush, and soft. Not as ideal as a haystack or a pile of pillows, Phineas Bogg reflected as he struck the ground and rolled down a shallow slope, but there were worse things to land on. Recovering, he stretched his limbs and sat up, looking around for his partner. Fortunately, Jeffrey had landed only a few feet away and appeared unharmed.

"We did it, kid!" Bogg reported. "Got Sam Pepys and Nell Gwyn to safety, even if things got a little hot at the end. You okay?"

For answer, Jeffrey rolled over onto all fours and began coughing as if his lungs were turning inside out.

"Hey . . . " Bogg made his way quickly to the boy's side. The kid reeked of smoke; they both did--hanging around the Great Fire of London tended to do that to a person.

"Easy, Jeff, easy," Bogg soothed, rubbing the small of the boy's back as he continued to cough and wheeze. "Just relax--take shallow breaths."

Dark eyes glared up at him blearily. "Can't -- take -- _any _-- breaths," Jeffrey rasped before going off into another paroxysm of coughing.

"And don't try to talk," Bogg admonished sternly. Reaching out, he rolled the boy gently onto his back and began to massage his abdomen. Too exhausted to resist, Jeffrey lay where he was, eyes closed.

After several minutes, Bogg sat back on his haunches. "Any better?"

The boy took a shallow, experimental breath, marred by only the faintest wheeze. Then another, and another, more easily. Color was creeping back into his cheeks, Bogg noted with relief.

A few more breaths, then -- "Where?" Jeffrey finally croaked out, flapping one hand in Bogg's direction.

After nearly two years of partnership, Bogg had no difficulty translating. Unclasping the Omni from his belt, he flipped open the lid. "France, 1784. And it's a green light, which is fine by me. I'm gonna assume it's fine by you too."

"Uhh," was the only response he got from the boy.

Undaunted, Bogg continued. "We worked pretty hard on this one, so I figure we're entitled to a few hours off. We can rest here for a while, maybe find something to eat before we go back into the field. Sound okay?"

Jeffrey only nodded, his eyes still closed, but Bogg thought his breathing had become deeper and more natural. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before the kid was back to being his normal, smart-mouthed self. And though Bogg would never admit this to Jeffrey's face, he'd be relieved when it happened.

Leaning back in the grass, the older Voyager gazed idly up at the sky, soft blue and laced with fleecy clouds. A beautiful day, neither too hot nor too cold. And if they were in France, the food would probably be decent, a change from the beef jerky Jeff not infrequently complained about.

He glanced over at his partner again, saw that the boy had raised himself on one elbow and was looking around with more than a trace of interest.

"France, you said?" Jeffrey's voice was still slightly hoarse from the smoke but clear enough.

Bogg smiled. "Welcome back, kid. " He consulted the Omni again. "Yep. France--Provence, if you want specifics. April 10, 1784."

"Before the Revolution."

Bogg shrugged. "You're the expert--I assume you'd know."

Jeffrey frowned to himself, then looked up again, his expression lightening. "No wars at all right now," he announced.

"Even better." Bogg got to his feet, dusting bits of grass and twig from his breeches. "Feeling okay, Jeff? I thought we'd go look for some lunch."

"I could eat," the boy admitted after a moment's consideration. "I just hope everything doesn't taste like smoke!"

"It'll be fine," Bogg reassured him. "We're in France. I don't think I've had a bad meal here yet." Shading his eyes with one hand, he gazed off towards the rooftops a short distance away. "Those look like farmhouses. Maybe they'll swap us a meal for some chores, or maybe I can just pay them for a loaf of bread and some sausage--"

"Bogg--"

"Okay, maybe we'll skip the sausage--it'd probably be smoked anyway. We'll ask for a round of cheese instead."

"Bogg!"

He spun around at the sharp note of fear in the kid's voice. Jeffrey had managed to rise, but he was swaying on his feet, his face ashen and his eyes oddly unfocused as he stared up at his partner. "I don't -- feel so good . . . "

"Jeff!" Alarmed, the older Voyager sprang forward and caught the boy as he fell, limp as a string-cut puppet. Then, suddenly, Bogg felt a familiar jerking sensation and the world around them winked out, as though a switch had been flipped.

He had time for one last startled thought--_But I never touched the Omni!_--before the swirling lights and motion of the cosmos overtook them both.

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: In which our heroes arrive at an unexpected destination and Bogg's anxiety level mounts. Contains minor spoilers for the episodes "The Trial of Phineas Bogg" and "Voyagers of the Titanic."

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 2

He materialized six inches from the ground, sitting down with a bump on a cold tile floor. A safe landing, Bogg had to admit, if not exactly a comfortable one. At least it hadn't harmed Jeffrey, who still lay unconscious in his arms. Gathering the boy a little closer, he took stock of their new surroundings.

Pale blue corridors branching off to all sides of them, bright even light shining down from overhead, an atmosphere of antiseptic cleanliness, and, most tellingly of all, the sharp scent of disinfectant that overrode the lingering smell of smoke.

A hospital? Bogg's growing suspicions were confirmed a moment later by the sound of running footsteps in the nearest corridor and the appearance of two large men, wearing surgical scrubs. 

"He's here," one man announced, pointing towards Jeffrey. "You take the head, I'll take the feet. Wilson should be here with the gurney any second."

Bogg's hold on his partner tightened instinctively. "Not so fast," he warned as the men approached. "Who are you? And what are you gonna do with him?"

The second man sighed and held up his hands placatingly. "Relax, Voyager Bogg--we're here to help. Now, if you'll just hand the boy over--"

"Not until you tell me who you are!" Bogg snapped. "And how do you know my name?"

"Phineas, it's okay."

Bogg jerked his head towards the new voice and felt a surge of relief when he recognized the petite blonde who had just arrived on the scene. 

Susan, the Voyager who'd been his advocate when he stood trial and on whom he'd harbored a secret crush in their Academy days. He hadn't been the only one either; several field workers' hopes had been dashed when Susan had opted for an administrative or legal position after graduation. With her appearance, another piece of the puzzle fell into place: he was back at Voyager Headquarters, most likely the medical unit.

"It's okay," Susan repeated, her tone as gentle as if she were talking to a child. "The medics will take good care of Jeffrey, but he needs to go down to Diagnostic so we can find out what's wrong with him."

"You can help him?"

She smiled reassuringly. "That's why we brought you both here. But, Phineas, I'll need your Omni too--knowing where you and Jeffrey have been will make it easier for us to find the answer."

Bogg hesitated only a moment. "Okay." 

Susan stepped aside to let another medic through, this one pushing a gurney, and looked expectantly at Bogg. After a last wary glance at the first two medics, he carried Jeffrey over to the gurney and laid him down carefully. "It's gonna be okay, kid," he told the boy, although the still face registered no response. "Everything's gonna be okay." Taking a reluctant step away, he unhooked the Omni from his belt and handed it to Susan.

The medic with the gurney had turned to his colleagues. "All right, let's move!" Pushing the gurney, the trio rapidly set off the way they had come. 

Bogg automatically started to follow the gurney, but Susan caught at his arm. "No, Phineas--you'd just get in the way!"

"What if Jeff wakes up and asks for me?" he demanded.

"_I'll _be in Diagnostic with him, so he'll know he's among friends." Susan's hand was still on his arm. "I promise you, he's going to get the best of care. But you need to let the medics do their job now. The sooner Jeffrey's stabilized, the sooner you can see him." 

Bogg exhaled, feeling all his instinctive protests deflating like a pricked balloon. There were hundreds of objections he wanted to make, but he had the sinking feeling that Susan had answers to them all.

Sensing his capitulation, she released his arm. "Will you stay here, in the waiting area? I promise to bring you to him, as soon as possible."

"I guess I don't have much choice, do I?" Bogg asked sourly. 

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I." Bogg sighed again. "Just -- look after him, okay? And let him know I'm still here? I don't want him to be scared or think I bailed on him."

"I'll tell him," she promised, before turning away to follow the medics down the corridor.

**--xxx--**

Bogg had always hated waiting. Patience had never been his strong suit, and waiting gave you too much time to worry, to imagine dozens of worst-case scenarios, to build up doubts until you were no longer sure of anything you'd done in the past or anything you might do in the future. Too much time to fret, pace, and turn yourself into a nail-biting nervous wreck.

Just like any parent with a sick kid.

"Phineas?" Another new voice, but not unfamiliar, broke in on his thoughts.

Once he would have groaned and strode away from that voice as fast as possible. Now, he actually felt his spirits lift when he looked up from his chair and saw the tall blonde, one crutch tucked under her arm, who was limping towards him.

"Olivia," he greeted her with a nod. "What's with the leg?"

Olivia Dunn, his classmate and sometime rival, pulled a face. "One bad landing too many. I'm riding a desk until the cast comes off. The medics say it's coming along pretty well. But what are _you_ doing here?"

"An unscheduled accident." Bogg tried to maintain a noncommittal tone but some of his anxiety must have bled through because Olivia's eyes widened in sudden realization.

"Oh, God, it's Jeffrey, isn't it? What happened?"

Strangely touched by the concern on her face, Bogg found himself telling her about the boy's mysterious collapse and their involuntary return to Headquarters. "Next thing I know, Jeff's being run down to Diagnostic and I'm cooling my heels here, waiting!" He shook his head in frustration. "And I haven't the foggiest idea what made him just -- keel over like that. I know he took in some smoke from the fire but he seemed to be recovering from that--"

"You were in a fire?" Olivia interrupted.

"More like _the_ fire," he corrected with a grimace. "As in, the Great Fire of London, 1666. We kept Samuel Pepys and Nell Gwyn from getting burned to a crisp."

"The Great Fire of London . . . " Olivia's voice trailed off. Bogg looked up to see her biting her lip, her expression troubled.

"What?" He could not conceal the edge fear gave to his voice.

She shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Like hell it is!" he snapped, giving vent to a rare burst of profanity. "Now, are you gonna tell me, or am I gonna have to shake it out of you'?"

Olivia's eyes flashed and her chin tilted up sharply at his threat, and Bogg braced himself for a scathing retort. But then in the next instant, her anger faded and he saw again the concern that simultaneously touched and unnerved him. Perversely, he found himself wishing she was still angry with him, because that was simpler to understand.

"Phineas," her tone was surprisingly gentle. "I know you tuned out a lot of stuff we were supposed to be learning in class, but _some_ things must've stuck. Do the dates 1348 and 1665 ring a bell with you?"

Bogg frowned, searching his memory. He hadn't applied himself much in his trainee days, but even so, there were dates that stuck in one's mind, and these two -- niggled at him. Enlightenment struck with frightening clarity. "Wait -- weren't those _plague years_?"

Olivia nodded confirmation. "London suffered an outbreak of bubonic plague the year before the Great Fire. The Black Death."

Bogg shuddered at the words. Even as a pirate, he had known of the Black Death. There were no good ways to die, but that had to be among the worst--the ugliest and most painful. Fever and delirium, black boils and hemorrhaging, days of agony before death brought a welcome release . . . 

_Not Jeff. Please, God, not Jeff._

He was on his feet before he realized it, striding towards the corridor Susan and the medics had taken. "Where's Diagnostic?"

"Bogg, you can't go down there!"

"Who's gonna stop me?"

"_I_ am, even if I have to hit you with this crutch!" Olivia blazed, grabbing onto his arm even more forcefully than Susan.

Bogg turned a dangerous face towards her. "Try it, and I'll break your other leg!"

"Not before I knock some sense into that thick skull of yours!" she fired back. "Or are you that eager to repeat the mistake I made in France?"

Bogg stopped short, appalled, as the memories swept over him. A rabid dog, frothing and furious, springing past him, Jeffrey's cry of pain as fangs sank into his wrist -- the first time the kid had been seriously injured on an assignment . . . 

"Remember?" Olivia pressed on. "I couldn't wait for Dr. Pasteur's vaccine to be ready. I had to play hero--and Jeffrey almost paid the price for it. If he had . . . I don't think I could've lived with myself." She paused, uttered a mirthless laugh. "In fact, I _know_ I wouldn't have, because you'd have killed me with your bare hands and I'd have deserved it!"

She was probably right, Bogg acknowledged. He had never been angrier or more frightened. Until now.

"Phineas . . . " Olivia was still holding onto his arm, though her grip had relaxed slightly. 

Bogg swallowed and forced words past the painful constriction in his throat. "He can't have it. He can't."

Olivia exhaled slowly. "Well -- in all probability, I would guess he doesn't. Now that I think about it, the plague rate was much lower in 1666."

"It was?"

"The Great Fire killed most of the rats carrying the disease. And even if Jeffrey _has_ been exposed, they can cure bubonic plague now, with antibiotics. I'm sure Diagnostic's got access to whatever meds they need, so he's in good hands. Now _you_ should probably get yourself checked out too, just in case," Olivia added. "I know how much Jeffrey means to you, but he wouldn't want you to get sick either."

"I'll be all right. I'm a big, mean ex-pirate who probably scares germs away. But Jeff --" Bogg swallowed hard before continuing. "When we're on assignment, working to fix what's wrong, it's easy to forget he's just a kid. Then something like this happens and it's all I can think of."

"He may be a kid, but he's a fighter too," Olivia replied bracingly. "I remember that from France -- and from the _Titanic_. So should you." Her grip slackened further, became nothing more than a light, friendly pressure on his forearm. "It looks like we'll be waiting here for a while, so can I get you a cup of lousy hospital coffee? It's the one drink that time never seems to improve."

"_We_?" Bogg queried.

"Think I'm letting you do this alone?"

"Olivia," he began, then stopped and made the only reply he could. "Thanks."

**--xxx--**

The coffee was every bit as bad as Olivia had predicted, but Bogg managed to down a cup and a half of it before his taste buds finally rebelled and he dumped what was left in a nearby trash bin. He and Olivia talked while they drank--or rather, Olivia talked while he listened, secretly glad of the distraction. He learned she had broken her ankle by landing on the edge of a roof --"and promptly falling off," she added ruefully. Fortunately, she'd ended up in a green zone and Omnied herself back to HQ for medical attention. There was no point, Professor Garth had told her sternly, in going back into the field until the fracture had mended, so he had assigned her clerical work, which was dull, and part-time teaching duties, which were proving more rewarding than she would have thought.

"There's something kind of exciting about working with the trainees," she remarked. "This is all new to them, so they're full of enthusiasm and always asking questions."

Bogg summoned up a smile from somewhere. "And do you let 'em think you have all the answers?"

"Hardly. I've learned some humility over the years--as _you_ have, I'm sure," she added pointedly.

Bogg bristled at that, but only half-heartedly. Besides, it had been something of an Academy joke about who was cockier, Voyager Bogg or Voyager Dunn. The honors had been about even too. Back then, he wouldn't have thought that a friendship between them was possible, but time had changed a lot of things. _Jeffrey_ had changed a lot of things.

"Phineas?" 

Bogg looked up to see Susan standing in the corridor again, smiling at him.

"There's a young man in the infirmary, who's wide awake and very anxious to see you."

Relief flooded through Bogg with such force that he was glad he was sitting down, so no one could notice how weak in the knees he felt. "Jeff's okay?"

"Well, he's stable," Susan temporized. "And lucid. We still haven't figured out why he collapsed, but we're hoping we'll know more once some of his test results come back. In the meantime, there's no reason for you not to be with him now."

"Great." Bogg rose from his chair, pleased to note that his legs held him up. "You coming, Olivia?" he asked over his shoulder.

Surprise and pleasure flickered across her face. "I'd be glad to, only--" She glanced questioningly at Susan.

The other Voyager shook her head reluctantly. "I'm afraid the doctors are only allowing one visitor at a time--at least for now. Sorry."

Olivia gave a regretful shrug. "I thought as much. It's okay, Phineas," she broke in, as he opened his mouth to protest. "I can come back later. But Jeffrey needs to see you now."

"Yeah." Almost as much as Bogg needed to see _him_. "And, um, thanks for the moral support," he added, somewhat awkwardly. Although he and Olivia were no longer rivals, it felt strange having this new almost-intimacy with her. Strange, but -- nice too.

Olivia just smiled. "Anytime. Give my love to Jeffrey." 

Bogg found himself smiling back. "Will do," he promised, before turning to follow Susan down the corridor.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: In which our heroes receive some answers, both good and not so good. Contains spoilers and post-episode speculation from the episode "The Trial of Phineas Bogg" and references to the episode "Jack's Back." This will be my last installment for a while, since I'm going on vacation, but I'll be back before too long. Enjoy, I hope. – Time & Tide

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 3

"How is he, really?" Bogg asked, as Susan led him down another set of corridors.

"Not in any pain," she reassured him. "And he's perfectly coherent, though I think the waiting is starting to get to him."

"Tell me about it," Bogg muttered, rubbing at the kinks the last few hours had put in his neck.

"Seeing you should help," Susan replied. "You were the first thing on his mind once he regained consciousness."

"You sure you don't know why he blacked out like that?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. As I told you, we don't have any firm answers yet, though we _might_ be able to rule out any serious physical cause. He had a minor case of smoke inhalation, so we put him on oxygen for a few minutes, but apart from that -- he exhibits no sign of illness."

Bogg hated to ask, but after his conversation with Olivia, he felt he had no choice. "Not -- not even plague?"

"Bubonic? Well," Susan paused, considering the matter. "We won't know for sure until his tests come back from Pathology, but so far, he's not showing any symptoms. We might put him on a course of preventive antibiotics, just in case. And maybe you as well, since you were both in a plague zone. With a disease that nasty, it's better not to take any chances."

"So, the thought's occurred to you too."

"And to Jeffrey. He asked about it during the middle of his examination. In detail." Susan smiled faintly. "The medics started wondering who was really in charge."

"That's my boy." Bogg felt some of his tension easing. Things couldn't be too bad if Jeffrey was acting like himself again. Unconsciously, he quickened his pace, eager to reach the infirmary. "This place sure has a lot of corridors," he remarked, glancing around him as he walked. "Not that I spent much time here, but I don't remember this many from before. Medical unit's gotten bigger?"

"Nearly doubled in size," Susan reported proudly, "and all the equipment's state-of-the-art. You should see the science unit too--a whole new wing's been built. In fact," she continued, lengthening her own stride to keep up with him, "there've been a lot of changes since you were here last. New approaches, new curricula, new technology -- Research and Development, especially, has skyrocketed in the last year. The whole order of Voyagers is really excited about the work we've been doing lately."

Bogg shook his head, amazed. "Like night and day. Last time I was here, you said things were at their darkest. And Drake had almost everyone under his thumb."

Susan grimaced at the mention of the former Code Violations Prosecutor, now turned renegade. "Oh, it took a while to fix all the damage he'd done, but I'd say we were pretty successful. Starting with those thirty Voyagers he had convicted and exiled. I suppose some might have been guilty of violating or at least_ stretching_ the Voyager code, but most of them were as innocent as you and Jeffrey. In any case, Professor Garth decided that since the evidence against them was tainted, their sentences had to be overturned. So, all thirty have been pardoned under a general amnesty and offered their old positions back. A few opted for retirement, but I'd say the majority of them are making the most of their second chance. And then there have some important _structural_ changes within the hierarchy . . . "

"Like?" Bogg queried.

The chill in Susan's smile made Bogg very glad it was not directed at him. "Let's just say, there aren't going to be any more mistakes like Drake. No one is _ever_ going to become that powerful, that fast again. The Council is keeping a much closer eye on the trainees and junior personnel these days."

"Makes sense," Bogg acknowledged. "Since we're on the subject of Drake, has anyone found him yet? The kid and I ran into him in Victorian London a while back, but he skipped out before we could catch him."

Susan shook her head. "We're still working on that. In fact, that's why we upgraded the whole Voyager Locator System, to try to track his movements. Our scanners are much more sensitive now, and I think we've come close once or twice, but he never stays in place long enough for us to get a lock on his coordinates. Everyone else, though, shows up just fine."

"Like me and Jeff."

"Like you and Jeffrey," she confirmed. "Another benefit of the system is that we can now detect -- unanticipated hazards to Voyagers in the field, and pull them out if necessary."

Bogg blinked. This was news indeed. When he'd first joined the ranks of the Voyagers, he'd accepted without question the unspoken dictate that field workers had to fend for themselves.

Witnessing his bemusement, Susan elaborated, "After what happened with Drake, we can't afford to lose qualified, _loyal_ personnel in the line of duty. The new VLS is supposed to help us minimize those losses."

Bogg frowned as he digested this. "So, you're saying that you picked up some threat to Jeff on your scanners and brought him_ here_?"

"In a nutshell, yes." Susan came to a sudden halt. "And now I've told you as much as I _can_ tell you without having Jeffrey's test results in front of me. So it's just as well that we've reached the infirmary. Two doors down," she added at Bogg's questioning look, "right at the end of the hall."

He let out a long, slow breath. "Thanks. I'll go right in to him."

"Phineas." Susan touched his arm briefly. "I know how worried you are, but trust me that we're doing everything we can for Jeffrey?"

Bogg managed a nod and a smile that felt as tight as it probably looked, then made for the infirmary door.

**--xxx--**

There were several beds on the infirmary ward, but only one was occupied. Bogg paused in the doorway, studying his partner anxiously.

Jeffrey was propped up on pillows, looking very young and fragile. But what startled Bogg most was the tangle of tubes and wires surrounding the bed: at first glance, the boy appeared to be trapped in the center of a spider-web. Suppressing his fears, Bogg made himself stroll casually into the room.

"Hey, kid."

"Bogg!" Jeffrey turned his head, his dark eyes brightening at the sight of his partner.

It wasn't easy to hug the kid through all the wires, but Bogg did his best, slipping an arm around the slight shoulders and pulling him close. Jeffrey clung to him convulsively, almost desperately.

"I thought you'd _never_ come," he accused, his voice slightly muffled against the older Voyager's shoulder.

"Shh . . . " Bogg patted the boy's back before releasing him. "S'okay, Jeff. They told me I had to wait while they examined you. How're you doing?"

Jeffrey expelled a breath of pent-up frustration. "They took away my clothes and shoes. Poked and prodded me all over. Asked lots of embarrassing questions. Hooked me up to all these," the boy gestured at the tubes and wires, then came to the heart of his grievance. "And nobody's telling me _anything!"_

"Well, if you've recovered enough to complain, it can't be too serious," Bogg teased, rubbing the boy's shoulder to calm him.

Jeffrey gave him A Look--Capitalized--and despite his worries, Bogg chuckled. Somehow, as long as they were together, nothing seemed too terrible.

"Look, kid," Bogg put his arm around the boy again. "I know the waiting's tough. If it's any consolation, I feel the same way. But Susan told me they're doing the best they can to find the answer. Don't you trust her?"

Jeffrey sighed. "Yeah, I guess. I just hate not being able to _do_ anything!"

"The best thing you can do right now is rest," Bogg retorted. "And not make yourself worse by getting all worked up like this."

"But I feel fine!" Jeffrey protested.

"_Now_. But just a few hours ago, you went white as a sheet and couldn't even stand up," the older Voyager countered. "I'm not gonna pretend it didn't scare me to see you collapse like that. Just -- what happened back there?

"I'd like to know that too."

The Voyagers glanced up to see Susan standing at the foot of the bed. Jeffrey's gaze zeroed in on the clipboard she was carrying and his face promptly clouded over. "_More _questions?"

"Jeffrey, I know this is hard on you." Susan's smile was sympathetic. "But if you can just describe in detail what happened before you lost consciousness, we might be able to find a solution more quickly."

The boy sighed again. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, to start with," Susan seated herself on the edge of the bed, "what was your last landing like?"

Jeffrey shrugged. "About average. Better than most, now that I think about it. We touched down in a deserted field."

"A deserted field," Susan repeated, scribbling at the pages attached to her clipboard. "Did you notice anything unusual or alarming?"

"Not right away." Jeffrey pulled a slight face. "I was coughing a lot, because we'd just come from the Fire of London, but when I recovered, Bogg told me we'd landed in a green zone."

Susan glanced at Bogg, who nodded confirmation. "Provence, France--1784. The kid said there weren't any wars going on."

"No, there weren't--at least not in France." Frowning slightly, Susan made another notation on the page. "But neither of you saw anything that you could recognize as a source of danger? Like a house on fire or someone coming towards you with a weapon?"

Bogg exchanged a glance with Jeffrey, and they both shook their heads. "All I saw were some farmhouses in the distance," the older Voyager replied. "I thought it would be okay if Jeff and I took a couple of hours off to catch our breath before heading back to work."

"And that's when it happened," Jeffrey supplied.

"That's when you lost consciousness?" Susan asked, gazing at him intently.

Jeffrey nodded. 

"How did you feel just before the collapse?"

The boy's brow furrowed. "Strange. I wasn't coughing anymore and my breathing was back to normal, so I stood up. And then . . . everything went all funny."

"Funny, how?" Susan prompted.

"I dunno. Blurry. Out of focus. Or like everything except me had gone into slow motion." He glanced at his partner. "Even _you_ seemed to be moving in slow motion, Bogg. And then I started to feel kinda sick."

"Nauseated?" 

Jeffrey shook his head. "Not _that_ kind of sick. It wasn't like I had a fever or was gonna throw up, but I got real dizzy. Like I'd been on a merry-go-round that was spinning too fast. Dis -- dis --" he fumbled for the right word, the crease between his brows deepening, "_disoriented_. And what was even weirder -- was this sense that I wasn't in the right place, somehow. That I was supposed to be somewhere else." He glanced up at Bogg. "I'd never felt like that before, when we traveled together. Not even the first time."

"It's gonna be okay, Jeff." The reassurance was automatic, but, inwardly, Bogg was feeling just as anxious as the boy. 

Jeffrey might have sensed as much because he now turned a worried dark gaze on Susan, who was still writing away at top speed.

"Dizzy and disoriented," she murmured, more to herself than to them. "Felt out of place . . . " Her voice trailed off and she looked up to find both Voyagers regarding her apprehensively.

"Well?" Bogg asked, trying not to sound too impatient. "Any ideas?"

Susan hesitated before replying. "It could be time-lag, I suppose."

"Time-lag?" Jeffrey echoed dubiously. "Is that anything like jet-lag?"

"In a way," Susan informed him. "Traveling repeatedly through the cosmos _can_ take a physical toll, even on a strong, healthy adult. A growing boy would feel the effects as well, especially if a lot of traveling took place within a relatively short period of time."

"So you're saying the kid's overworked and needs rest?" Bogg asked, putting a protective arm around Jeffrey again.

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But I really couldn't say for sure, and I shouldn't offer a diagnosis until the specialists have seen this report. You know I'm no medic, Phineas. Speaking of which," she added, "I think it's time _you_ went down to Diagnostic and got yourself checked out too."

"That can wait," Bogg began but Jeffrey interrupted him.

"She's right, Bogg. I don't know what I've got or if it's catching, but I don't want you to get it too."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Bogg insisted. "And I don't want to leave you alone, kid."

"I'll be okay," Jeffrey said staunchly. "You're just going for some tests, right?"

"And he won't have to be alone," Susan chimed in. "I'm sure Olivia would be glad to visit with him during your examination."

Jeffrey's eyes widened with surprise and, Bogg thought, pleasure. "Olivia's here? Olivia Dunn?"

"Yeah, I ran into her in the waiting area -- it's like old home week at Headquarters," Bogg told the boy. "She busted an ankle so she's here until it heals. And she sent you her love."

Somewhat to his amusement, Jeffrey blushed slightly. "That was nice. I'd like to see her if she's still around."

Susan smiled as she rose from the bed. "Then it's settled -- I'll find her and send her in to you. Phineas, won't you come with me, please?"

Bogg gave Jeffrey's shoulder a last, comforting squeeze before setting off reluctantly for Diagnostic.

**--xxx--**

Fortunately, Bogg's examination didn't take nearly as long as Jeffrey's had. It was more like undergoing a routine physical than anything else. Still, he had to answer his share of embarrassing questions and allow the medics to take samples of this and that from him. so it was with a decided sense of relief that he resumed his clothes and rejoined his partner in the infirmary.

True to her promise, Susan had sent for Olivia, who was sitting on the foot of Jeffrey's bed. The two were talking shop, he observed with amusement as he came up to them.

"So there's a way to send for other Voyagers if you get hurt on the job?" the kid was asking.

Olivia nodded. "If you're too ill or injured to complete your mission, you can set your Omni to transmit a 'Voyager Down' signal. The nearest unassigned Voyager gets the signal first and will be transported automatically to where you are so he -- or she -- can take over. Of course," she added, "some Voyagers choose to work together if their assignment proves too difficult for one alone."

"So there are other Voyager teams besides Bogg and me? I never knew that." 

Olivia smiled at the boy. "You and Phineas are unconventional, but not unprecedented."

"And here I thought we'd broken the mold," Bogg remarked, striding forward to join their conversation.

"Well, you probably broke_ something_, but I wouldn't care to guess what," Olivia retorted. But the jibe lacked venom and she didn't stop smiling when she looked his way.

"You're back!" Jeffrey exclaimed brightly. "Is everything okay?"

"As far as I know," Bogg replied, seating himself in the chair beside the bed. Most of the wires and tubes had been removed in his absence, he noted with relief. "I didn't have any of your symptoms, so I'm not expecting any problems."

"I'm still glad you let them examine you," Jeffrey maintained. "Partners should look out for each other."

Bogg smiled and patted the boy's shoulder. "Yeah, they should." He glanced quizzically at Olivia. "You and the kid sharing war stories?"

"Something like that. Jeffrey wanted to know what else Omnis could do, so I was telling him about their secondary functions."

"Pity they don't have a secondary function to guarantee a soft landing every time," Bogg grumbled.

Olivia glanced down with a rueful grimace at her plaster-encased ankle. "I'm with you on that, Phineas."

"Yeah," Jeffrey added feelingly.

They were comparing stories about best and worst landings when Susan reentered the infirmary, a file in her hand. Three heads immediately turned in her direction, and Jeffrey slipped his hand surreptitiously into Bogg's, as Susan approached the bed.

"Jeffrey, I have your test results here," she began.

Olivia started to reach for her crutch. "Maybe I'd better give you some privacy."

"Please," Jeffrey caught at her hand. "I don't mind if you stay, honest."

Olivia glanced at Bogg and Susan. "If it's all right with everyone else--"

"If it's okay with the kid, it's okay with me," Bogg replied.

Susan hesitated a moment, then nodded assent. "If that's what Jeffrey wants, it's fine with me too." Opening the file, she took out a single sheet of paper. "Well, for starters, I'm pleased to report that you _don't_ have bubonic plague, nor are you at risk for any other life-threatening illness." 

Jeffrey exhaled audibly in relief, a beaming Olivia leaned forward to kiss the boy on the cheek, and Bogg felt a big grin breaking out across his own face 

"Great news, kid!" he declared, gripping the boy's shoulder and giving it a congratulatory shake. "Must've been time-lag all along. No problem, we can just rest up here until you're stronger, then we'll take the Omni and--"

"Not so fast," Susan broke in, and the somberness of her tone brought all celebration to a crashing halt. "I'm sorry, guys, but -- that's not going to be possible."

"Not possible?" Bogg echoed. "But you just said it wasn't the plague!"

"It's not, but that doesn't mean things aren't serious. In fact," Susan bit her lower lip as she glanced at the other three Voyagers, all staring at her, "according to the results of Jeffrey's _other _set of tests, I'm afraid they're very serious indeed."

Jeffrey swallowed, his eyes huge in his newly pale face. Bogg reached out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You're scaring him," he said tersely. "Get to the point."

"I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention at all. I said that Jeffrey's health wasn't in danger, which is true. He'll be perfectly safe and healthy, as long as he remains _here_."

"Here?" Bogg echoed, confused.

"At Voyager Headquarters. You know that it's located -- outside conventional time. But if the two of you venture into the time stream again," Susan paused to regard them both with troubled eyes, "Jeffrey will cease to exist."

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Came back from vacation to a full in-box and workload, so I'm way behind on reading, writing, and commenting. But here's the next one at last, in which problems are explained and decisions are made. Thanks to everyone who commented on the previous installment—I hope to respond individually as soon as time permits. 

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 4

The silence that descended was so abrupt it seemed to have a sound of its own. Olivia's lips parted but no words emerged, and Bogg watched in mounting alarm as the remaining color drained from Jeffrey's face. It was impossible, the older Voyager knew, for eyes to actually grow bigger, but the boy's looked unnaturally large and dark against his sudden stark pallor.

Jeffrey's continuing silence was the most frightening symptom of all. Bogg would have expected heated protests, denials, even tears, anything but this eerie, unnatural stillness. After the bombshell Susan had just dropped, no kid should be this quiet. Especially not _his_ kid.

It seemed an eternity before Jeffrey finally spoke, his voice a taut, barely recognizable thread. "Are you saying that if I travel through time now . . . I'll die?"

"Not exactly," Susan temporized. "I'm afraid it's -- complicated."

"_How_ complicated?" Olivia had regained her voice.

"That's what I'd like to know too," Bogg snapped, his voice harsh even to his own ears. "The kid's been traveling with me for almost two years. According to history and Professor Garth, this is what he's _supposed_ to be doing. So, what's the problem, and why now?"

Susan sighed, obviously regretting what she had to say. "Our technicians call it 'Temporal Displacement.' Jeffrey," she seated herself on the other side of the bed, "I'm afraid that your existence in standard time, before you met Phineas, has been compromised. And until everything has been restored, it's not safe for you to Voyage. I'm sorry."

Jeffrey swallowed audibly before replying. _"How_?" The distress and fear contained in that single word were almost palpable.

"That's what we're trying to figure out. I promise you, the technicians have made fixing this a top priority."

The boy closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then, "Can I talk to them--the technicians?"

Susan hesitated. "Well . . . "

"Please?" The intensity in Jeffrey's gaze could have burned through metal. "It's my life--I've _got_ to know what's going on!"

"The kid's right," Bogg broke in. "If it were me, I'd want the same thing. _Any_ of us would," he added, trading a glance with Olivia, who nodded affirmation.

Susan paused a moment longer, then seemed to reach a decision. "Very well. Let me find you some clothes and then I'll take you down to Control."

**--xxx--**

Bogg had not visited Mission Control more than a few times during his Academy days. He wasn't surprised to see that that, too, had changed almost beyond recognition. There were computer consoles everywhere, along with display screens of varying sizes, some taking up an entire wall. Electronic read-outs in neon-bright colors cast an eerie radiance about the cool, dimly lit-room. In addition, every piece of equipment seemed to whir, click, or beep, which made Bogg at least feel slightly uncomfortable. He preferred technology that was simple and straightforward.

Glancing at Jeff, Bogg saw that the boy looked as awed as he felt. Only Olivia, to whom Control must be a more familiar sight, seemed unfazed.

"Bryce? Beckett?" Susan called, as she led her companions further into the room.

A young male voice floated out from behind the nearest console. "Just Bryce. Beckett's on a coffee break."

Susan walked around the console, the other Voyagers trailing in her wake. "Bryce, I've brought Voyager Jones down to talk to you."

"Jones?" The young man identified as Bryce rummaged among a stack of files beside his console. "Oh, yeah. The Temporal Displacement case."

"The case happens to be my partner," Bogg pointed out irritably.

Bryce blinked and his eyes suddenly came into focus, the abstracted demeanor dropping away. "Sorry. Geek thing. Nothing personal." Pushing back his chair, he stood up and made his way over to the two Voyagers. 

Bogg blinked in turn. Going by the voice alone, he'd guessed Bryce was young, but he hadn't figured _this_ young. Eighteen or nineteen, at the most, thin and gangling, with limbs that didn't seem to have finished growing yet. Beneath a shock of unruly light-brown hair, pale eyes, magnified by steel-rimmed glasses, regarded them curiously.

_Just great_, Bogg thought sourly. _Another boy-genius_. Still, if he could deal with a junior history whiz like Jeff, he could learn to tolerate a scientific prodigy, if he had to. He flicked a sideways glance at his partner, wondering how the boy was holding up under the technician's scrutiny.

At first sight, Jeffrey appeared overmatched and far younger than his years in the borrowed clothes that hung loosely on his slight frame. But he met Bryce's inquiring gaze with a level, unflinching stare of his own. They were sizing each other up, Bogg realized, in the way that bright kids do.

The mutual appraisal lasted a few more seconds, then the technician stuck out his hand. "I'm Bryce."

Jeffrey took the proffered hand. "Jeffrey Jones." He tilted his head sideways to indicate his partner. "And this is Phineas Bogg."

Bryce nodded at the older Voyager, but it was to Jeffrey that he directed his next words. "What do you want to know?"

Jeffrey's mouth compressed in a fleeting grimace. "What 'Temporal Displacement' means, for a start."

"Pretty much what it sounds like. Something happened to displace you from the time you were supposed to occupy, so your existence has been compromised."

Jeffrey's brow furrowed. "But I'm _here_ now. Doesn't that count?"

"Not in the same way. Headquarters has its own temporal and spatial laws. I'm talking about your life _befor_e you became a Voyager." Bryce turned back towards his console, motioning Jeffrey to follow him. Bogg trailed after his partner, still not comprehending but trying his best to follow the conversation. Susan and Olivia, he noticed, had withdrawn discreetly and were observing the discussion from a short distance away.

"To be a time traveler, you have to have lived _within_ time," Bryce continued, seating himself again. "The way matter has to have mass and take up space to be considered matter. Voyagers have to come from somewhere. Without a point of origin, you're not connected to anything, so you can't really be said to exist. It would be like you came out of nowhere, which is scientifically impossible."

Jeffrey absorbed this information in silence, still frowning to himself. "But how can I be made not to exist?" he protested. "I haven't been anywhere near my own time in two years!"

"It doesn't have to be anything _you've_ done," Bryce assured him. "The alteration to your existence could have happened as the result of a random accident, like a rift in the time-space continuum. Or, which is more likely, it could be the secondary or even tertiary consequence of someone else's actions. Like the domino effect--knock one down and the rest will follow."

"Dominos," Jeffrey echoed, then fell silent again

"It's on record as having happened before. Just not that often. But I know of a case where one Voyager's birth got cancelled out because of some change that happened generations in his past. Another operative had to go back and fix it for him. Since then, we've been trying to place special restrictions on each Voyager's timeline to decrease the possibility of that happening again. But . . . " his voice trailed off and he looked suddenly abashed.

"But you haven't placed these restrictions on Jeffrey's timeline," Bogg finished, unable to conceal the anger that crept into his voice.

Bryce hunched an uncomfortable shoulder. "We haven't reached the J's yet . . . " Avoiding Bogg's glare, he turned back to his console. "I've hooked up your Omni to the Biochronometer, so just give me a moment to access your profiles . . . " Bryce deftly tapped out a sequence of letters and numbers on his keyboard, then leaned back with a satisfied air. "This is _your_ life in standard time," he informed Bogg. The top half of the screen was taken up with a grid of dates, across which a single illuminated line stretched in an unbroken segment. Peering at the data, Bogg recognized without undue difficulty the twenty-odd years he'd lived before being chosen as a Voyager.

"And this is his." Bryce hit another key, and a second line appeared on the lower half of the screen. Much shorter, spanning only a dozen years, but far more alarming was the way the entire line flickered on and off, like a faulty light switch. Or, Bogg thought with a sudden chill, like the Omni when history had gone wrong. "We can't pinpoint the disturbance in your timeline to any single cause or any single year, which is why we think there could be several factors at work."

Jeffrey peered over Bryce's shoulder at the screen. "Like what?"

Bryce shrugged, his long fingers still tapping out indecipherable sequences on his keyboard. "Well, maybe your parents never met. Or maybe your great-great-grandfather married someone else. Or, if we're talking about _your_ life, it could be something as simple as you moving away from your old home or changing schools."

"Changing schools would cause me not to exist anymore?" Jeffrey's tone was frankly skeptical.

Bryce shrugged again. "Hey, if you want a more dramatic scenario, maybe you fell in a tank of piranhas or got eaten by a grizzly bear--"

"Or maybe I died in the same accident that killed my folks."

Bryce looked up at that, his flippancy vanishing at the sight of Jeffrey's bleak expression. "Sorry." He fidgeted nervously with his shirt collar before hunching over his keyboard again. "The point is, any significant deviation would cause _this_ timeline -- the one that leads to your being a Voyager now--not to exist anymore. For your future to remain the same, you have to keep the past the same as well. Maybe minor details might vary, but in the end, everything has to play out the way you remember it."

"Even the things I'd rather forget."

"Something like that." Bryce's tone was apologetic. Swiveling his chair around, he glanced up at Jeffrey with what appeared to be genuine concern. "Look, the good news --"

"There's _good_ news?" Bogg muttered.

"The good news," Bryce continued, ignoring the older Voyager, "is that I think there's a way to get your life back on track. I've got some ideas--I'll bounce 'em off Beckett once he gets back. But we _are_ working on this. Can you trust us?"

Jeffrey's somber dark eyes met Bryce's pale ones. "I guess I have to, don't I?"

**--xxx--**

With no other recourse left to them, Bogg and Jeffrey returned to the infirmary for the present. Olivia had classes to teach, so she hugged them both and told them to send for her if they needed anything. Susan also promised that she would stop by as soon as the techs came up with some kind of solution. _When_ that might be, however, she couldn't say.

Bogg watched his partner closely for what remained of the day, but Jeffrey remained listless and withdrawn. The older Voyager almost wished the boy would break down in tears or lash out in frustration; either response would seem more natural than this strained quiet. And Bogg knew_ he_ could have coped better too. But if the kid needed to hold everything in right now, Bogg had to respect that, no matter how hard it was to watch.

Food was sent up, which they ate dutifully but without appetite. And neither of them slept well. Lying awake in his own bed, Bogg listened to Jeffrey tossing and turning for most of the night. Once, the boy started out of sleep with a strangled cry, clearly roused by a nightmare. Although he said he was all right, Bogg went over to sit with him until the kid fell into an uneasy doze again. Or pretended to. 

Dawn found Jeffrey sleeping more heavily, though Bogg could see the shadows under his closed eyes. Dawn also brought Susan, peering discreetly around the infirmary door. Glancing down at the slumbering boy, Bogg rose from his chair and stole out of the room to meet her in the corridor.

"Any news?" he asked in a low voice.

"I think we've found a possible solution." Susan held up her hand, showing Bogg the silver Omni tucked in her palm. "This is a prototype for our newest model: 3-70-10. We've downloaded Jeffrey's profile into its memory core. Bryce and Beckett think the best way to handle this is to send someone back to Jeffrey's time to correct the deviations in his life."

Bogg nodded. "I wondered if it would be something like that. Any idea what I'll be doing?" It would _have_ to be him: no way he was trusting this mission to anyone else.

To his relief, Susan didn't even try to dissuade him or suggest an operative who was not as personally involved. Not that he'd have listened if she had. "You'll be traveling along Jeffrey's lifespan in standard time, sorting out whatever problems you encounter. We'll be tracking your movements from Control, of course, and I'll be your liaison between here and -- wherever you end up. I'm not the field expert Olivia is, but I'll do the best I can."

"And the kid? How does he fit into all this? He can't travel with me this time."

"No, but we'll need his memories, so we can fill you in on what you need to know. Naturally, you know Jeffrey better than anyone, but I doubt he's had the chance to give you _every_ detail of his life before you met."

"No," Bogg admitted. "But we're partners, and two years of working together ought to count for something." 

"I'm sure it will." Susan paused before continuing, her expression slightly troubled. "I should warn you, Phineas, that this venture isn't without risks. Given the extent to which Jeffrey's timeline has been compromised, you're heading into uncharted waters--and with a new Omni as well."

"I was a pirate, remember? Uncharted waters are familiar territory for me." Bogg looked back over his shoulder, towards the infirmary where Jeffrey still lay sleeping. "How soon can I start?"

**--xxx--**

Jeans, a faded blue chambray shirt, loafers--and enough cash to cover whatever financial needs arose. Bogg donned the clothes, tucked the billfold into his hip pocket, and studied himself in the long mirror with professional satisfaction. Whatever his destination, his appearance would not attract unwarranted attention.

The mirror also reflected back a slight, tense figure watching him with worried dark eyes that always saw more than they should.

Bogg glanced over his shoulder at the boy. "It'll be okay, kid. Piece of cake."

Jeffrey bit his lip. "I wish I could go with you."

"So do I, but we both know that's not possible right now." The older Voyager's tone was gentle. "Don't worry about me, Jeff. I'm just doing some repair work so we can be together again. Just taking -- a little stitch in time."

_A stitch in time saves . . . the best partner any Voyager could have._

Jeffrey's eyes were still shadowed, his lips compressed in a thin, anxious line. The smarter the kid, the harder he was to fool. Everything that mattered to both of them was riding on this, and the boy knew it.

Bogg turned away from the mirror. "It'll be okay," he repeated, more firmly. "And we're gonna be in touch, you know. Susan said your part in this is as important as mine. And Olivia will be around to help you, just as Susan's gonna be helping me."

Funny thing about Olivia. She could be as abrasive as sandpaper one minute, soft as butter the next. But he was trusting her with the most important person in his life, and he knew she wouldn't fail him -- or Jeff.

Kneeling down to Jeffrey's level, Bogg wrapped his arms around the boy in a brief, hard hug that left them both breathless and dangerously close to tears.

"Ready to see me off?" Bogg asked, when he could speak again.

Jeffrey nodded, clearly not trusting his voice.

Putting his arm around the boy's shoulders, Bogg led him out of the dressing room and down the hall to Mission Control. The others were already there: Bryce at his console, with Susan standing at his shoulder, and Olivia waiting to one side. Beckett, a pleasant-looking man who appeared to be in his late thirties, was half-hidden behind Mission Control's central processing unit.

Susan came up to hand Bogg the new Omni, preset to automatic mode. "Phineas, you need to stand there," she directed, pointing him towards a circle drawn in colored chalk on the floor. "We can maintain contact better if we have your exact departure coordinates. And I'll be following as soon we know your location."

Bogg nodded. "Gotcha." He looked down into Jeffrey's upturned face. "Well, kid--this is it. Wish me luck?"

Jeffrey managed an unsteady smile. "Good luck, _partner_."

Bogg squeezed the boy's shoulder. "See ya soon, kid. Olivia--"

"I'll take care of him," she broke in, hobbling to Jeffrey's side. "You don't even have to ask."

Bogg smiled. "I know. And thanks."

Squaring his shoulders, he walked the short distance to the circle and stepped inside its boundaries. Then turned and looked back one last time.

Olivia stood behind Jeffrey, her hands resting lightly upon his shoulders in an unspoken promise of protection. Jeffrey himself was standing as tall as he could, but he looked achingly young all the same, his dark gaze fixed unwaveringly on Bogg. 

"Lock?" Beckett called, from behind the processor.

"Lock," Bryce confirmed. He glanced in Bogg's direction. "Ready when you are, Voyager."

Bogg swallowed hard, thinking of all the things he wanted to say but couldn't find words for. 

"I'll be back," he promised his partner, and hit the Omni.

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: In which Jeffrey frets, and Bogg gets a taste of the Big Apple, possibly biting off more than he can chew. Unlike Jeffrey, I did not grow up in New York, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies I might have perpetrated, even with research. Ditto for any foreign language errors that appear in this chapter. Contains minor spoiler for the episode "Barriers of Sound" and a lot of speculation about backstory, which I hope readers won't find too implausible.

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 5

Jeffrey stared forlornly at the place where his partner had been mere seconds ago. Stared until the spot wavered and blurred and his eyes began to sting. Furious over his lack of control, he squeezed them shut against the betraying moisture. Bogg had assured him that tears weren't "sissy," but in this situation, he concluded bleakly, they weren't much use either.

_It has to be this way_, he told himself fiercely. He was as good as dead if Bogg didn't pull this off. He'd trusted the older Voyager with his life before, and Bogg hadn't failed him yet.

But it was -- weird to think of just not _being_. Every sense seemed heightened at the moment: all around him he could see the consoles and screens of Mission Control, hear the whir and click of machines, feel the warmth of Olivia's hands on his shoulders, breathe in the light, citrusy scent of her perfume . . . 

If he tried to follow Bogg into time now, would all of that simply vanish? Thoughts, feelings, experiences gone, and just a blank space--nothingness--where he had been? 

Jeffrey shivered. His life in standard time might have been short and, compared to those of others, insignificant. But it was _his_--and the thought of it disappearing scared him more than he could say.

"Jeffrey?" He felt Olivia's fingers brush his cheek. "Are you okay?"

"No." The starkness in that one syllable surprised them both.

"I guess that was a pretty stupid question to ask," she admitted with a crooked smile. "Naturally, you're not okay, and I wouldn't be either, if it were me. But you trust Phineas, don't you?"

"Of course," Jeffrey said, surprised. "But I hate feeling this helpless! It's my _life_, and I can't do anything to straighten it out."

Olivia ruffled his hair affectionately. "Don't underestimate yourself, kid. You may not be able to Voyage right now, but you're the one with all the answers. Bogg is going to need you more than ever on this assignment."

"She's right," Susan chimed in. "It's precisely because it's your life that your knowledge and memories are so vital."

"But what if I mess up?" Jeffrey asked, his anxiety returning in full force. "What if the problems with my timeline started when I was too young to remember?"

"Then we'll put our heads together and see what we can come up with," Susan promised. "Just remember, Jeffrey--you're not alone."

"We're all here to help you," Olivia added, giving Jeffrey's shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Jeffrey swallowed, feeling the tide of panic recede. "Thanks," he said gruffly, around the lingering tightness in his throat. "That means a lot."

Susan smiled reassurance, then turned towards the main console. "Have you got Phineas's coordinates, Beckett?"

"Not yet, but they should be available any second . . . " The older technician broke off, eyes widening. "Oh, boy," he said, after what seemed like an interminable pause. "Wait'll you see where he ended up."

**--xxx--**

"July 10, 1968--Manhattan," Bogg observed, frowning over the Omni's read-out. Two years before the kid was even born? He profoundly hoped that the device was working the way it should: messing up this timeline was unthinkable.

Up until now, the journey had been remarkably smooth, an uneventful soar through the cosmos. Most startling of all, he hadn't arrived at his destination in midair and crashed to the ground. Instead, still contained within the cosmos, he'd found himself floating downwards, towards a portal of light. There had been a flash of color, a momentary sense of disorientation, as he passed through it, then he had simply been there -- "there" being a crowded subway station, with people dashing past him, either disembarking from the train, or running to board it. Hardly anyone had spared Bogg a second glance as they attended to their business: it had been a relief not to have to explain his sudden appearance in their midst.

The station had been too dark for Bogg to read the Omni, so he'd quickly followed part of the crowd up the stairs and out into the bright sunlight. Squinting against the glare, he'd ducked under a nearby awning to check his coordinates. Now, he flipped the lid shut and hooked the Omni to his belt, still frowning to himself.

Susan had mentioned that the prototype had several new functions, which she hoped to show him as the mission progressed. But Bogg's main concern was still the red light, blinking on and off. Some things never changed, no matter how many refinements were made.

He glanced around him, wondering whether to wait around or start moving in some direction. No sign of Susan yet, but as long as he had the Omni, she should be able to track him. Besides, he tended to think better on his feet. He set off briskly up the nearest street, paying little heed to the signs overhead. Time enough to get his bearings once he'd got things figured out. It felt strange not having the kid beside him, talking nineteen to the dozen or debating with him the best way to solve the problem before them. And strange not having to shorten his stride so Jeffrey could keep up with him. Strange -- and not quite right somehow, as if he were missing an arm or a leg.

All the more reason to get this timeline fixed, so things could go back to normal for them both.

"1968," he mused aloud. One or two people glanced curiously at the strange man who was talking to himself but hurried on.

Jeffrey was from New York City, but Jeffrey didn't exist yet. If he wasn't here, in this place and time, for the kid, then -- for whom? For his parents?

"Maybe they never met," Bryce had suggested to Jeffrey, back at Headquarters. And the more Bogg considered it, the more plausible it seemed. Maybe he was here to make sure the kid's folks got together, set them on the road to love and marriage. It wouldn't be the first time his job had required him to play matchmaker.

Where should he start looking for them, though? Jeffrey had said his father was a history professor, but it took years to reach that level of expertise, so -- Mr. Jones was probably still in college or, Bogg amended, graduate school. He grimaced. Finding one Jones who happened to be studying history in all the universities in the whole of New York City promised to be a daunting task.

And if he found that one particular Jones, what then? Encourage him to go out more? Introduce him to some pretty girls? Except that Bogg had no way of knowing which girl was Miss Right!

Funny how Jeffrey spoke much less about his mom than his dad. And yet it couldn't have been because they didn't get along. The kid had obviously grown up in a loving, demonstrative family--Jeffrey's ease with expressing affection seemed proof of that.

Pausing in his northward progress, he glanced up at the nearest street sign. West 60th Street and Columbus Avenue. A reminiscent smile tugged at his mouth: he had been seeking Columbus nearly two years ago, but fate and his Omni had brought him to Jeffrey's room instead. The luckiest mistake of his life, though it had later turned out not to be a mistake at all.

A mass of people, possibly disgorged from another subway station, was approaching from the east, hurrying across the street before the signal could change. Just then, Bogg heard a sharp cry, and saw a young woman come stumbling out of the crowd to land awkwardly on her knees several feet from the curb -- just as the traffic light flashed yellow . . . and then red.

Without stopping to think, Bogg dashed into the street and caught up the fallen girl in his arms. Cars tore past, their horns blaring furiously, as he raced back to the curb, still carrying his burden, who was now swearing under her breath in what sounded to Bogg like fluent Italian. 

He set the girl down carefully on the pavement. "You okay, Miss?"

She exhaled deeply, trying to compose herself. "Yes, thanks to you." Her English, he noted, was flawless and completely unaccented. "I think you just saved my life."

"You're welcome." Bogg eyed the girl curiously. She was slight, nearly a foot shorter than he was, with dark hair pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck, and an outsize pair of sunglasses covering most of her face. A purse and a long-handled bookbag dangled from her shoulder, and her clothes were conservative for such a young woman: a plain white blouse and a long black skirt from which she was attempting to brush traces of dirt and a single dusty footprint. 

An exclamation broke from her as she examined her left shoe, a black pump now missing a heel. "_Maldicalo!_ I just_ bought_ these shoes!" 

"You lost your balance when the heel broke off?"

The girl glanced up at him indignantly. "I'm not _that_ clumsy, mister! It felt," she said darkly, "like somebody _pushed_ me!" She paused, then shook her head as if trying to force herself into a more charitable mood. "It could have been an accident, I guess. But," she pulled a face, holding up her ruined pump, "it still doesn't fix my shoe!"

"Is there a place you can go to pick up an extra pair?" Bogg asked, trying not to smile too visibly.

She shook her head again, removing her other pump as well and thrusting the pair into her bookbag. "The subway was running behind schedule already, and I can't be late to this audition. But I've got a pair of ballet slippers I can change into right now, if you don't mind lending a hand, or a shoulder."

"Not at all."

"Thanks!" Snatching off her sunglasses, she thrust them into her purse and dived again into her bookbag, emerging triumphantly with a pair of soft black flats. Bogg obligingly stood still as the girl leaned on him for support so she could slip them on. Newly shod, she released him and looked up -- and Bogg experienced a sharp jolt of recognition when he finally got a good look at her uncovered face.

The nose looked somewhat familiar but the eyes were what riveted his attention: huge dark eyes, wide-set and long-lashed, beneath arched dark brows. He almost didn't need the sight of a springy dark curl, escaped from its pins, straying across the girl's forehead to complete the connection.

Unless he was much mistaken, he was looking at Jeffrey's mother. 

The discovery nearly took his breath away and for several seconds all he could do was stare -- until the girl herself broke the spell.

"Mister?" She tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowing in mingled concern and wariness. "You okay?"

Bogg recovered quickly. "Uh, yeah. Fine." He summoned up a reassuring grin for her and decided a little part of the truth wouldn't hurt. "It's just that, for a moment, you looked a lot like somebody I know. Startled me a bit."

"Oh!" The girl sounded relieved. "I was afraid you were tripping, or something. Glad you weren't."

"Tripping"? Bogg searched his memory for "'60's slang," then felt himself flush when he belatedly recalled the meaning of the term. "I'll have you know, I'm as sober as a judge," he replied stiffly.

"Sorry!" She flashed him a gamine grin that was startlingly like Jeff's. "Look, mister, thanks again for saving my life. But I've got to run, if I'm to make my audition in time."

"Where are you headed?" Bogg asked. "I can walk you there."

"Oh, that's not necessary--"

"Just to make sure you arrive safely," Bogg continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "A Good Samaritan shouldn't leave a job half-done."

She paused at that, regarded him speculatively. "Good Samaritan, huh? There aren't many of those around these days."

"Well, you're looking at one right here," Bogg retorted.

Her lips quirked in a reluctant smile. "I guess I am. Okay, mister--you're on. I accept your offer."

Bogg offered his arm and felt a sense of satisfaction when she took it without further protest. "Which way?"

"Three blocks north. Lincoln Center, Broadway and 63rd."

"May I have the honor of knowing who I'm escorting?"

"Katerina Rossini. Kathy, to my friends. And you?"

"Phineas Bogg."

Kathy's brows rose in a way that Bogg had seen many times before. More tactful than her future son, she only remarked, "Unusual name."

Bogg managed a sour grin. "_Bane of my existence_ would be more accurate."

"Well, I'm sure it's easier to spell than 'Passepartout,'" she pointed out, with a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes.

"There is that," he conceded, feeling slightly regretful that he couldn't tell her that _he_ had inspired Verne's creation, rather than the other way around.

He'd have to watch himself around her, he realized. It would be all too easy to let something slip out inadvertently, lulled by her warmth and friendliness. She and Jeffrey were alike in more than looks--he'd seldom been more comfortable with anyone than the kid. They'd developed such a strong camaraderie--at least they had once Bogg had stopped resenting being saddled with a twelve-year-old partner.

And then there was the fact that Kathy Rossini was an undeniably attractive young woman. And just as undeniably off-limits. If Bogg had learned anything from his brief, doomed entanglement with Mabel Hubbard, it was to avoid romantic involvement with women who were destined for other men.

"So," he resumed, as they continued up the street, "you're auditioning at Lincoln Center. You a dancer?"

"Singer," she corrected. "Classical opera. I've been training since I was fourteen years old, and I sang with the Amato this past spring. So when I heard that the New York City Opera had two openings for women in their company for next season, I knew I just had to try for one of those spots."

"You gonna be their new . . . " Bogg searched for the right phrase, then produced it triumphantly, "_prima donna_?"

"Oh, no -- they've already got Beverly Sills!" Kathy spoke in the hushed tones usually reserved for movie stars and rock singers. "I'm not experienced enough to land any of the big parts. But to work with a professional company -- what singer wouldn't jump at the chance? Besides," she added pragmatically, "I'll be getting paid, which is pretty useful for someone getting married in three days."

"Congratulations." Bogg was careful to conceal his surprise, even as his mind raced. Married in three days? What if it was Kathy about to tie the knot with Mr. Wrong?

"Thanks! I had hoped my fiancé might be able to come with me for moral support, but he couldn't get away from work. But he said he'd meet me afterwards--and we'd go someplace to celebrate." She smiled and shook her head. "He won't even entertain the possibility that I won't get in."

"Sounds like he's got a lot of faith in you."

"Oh, he's the best." Kathy's hand tightened momentarily on Bogg's arm. "Look, there's Lincoln Center!" 

Bogg followed her gaze, pursed his lips in an appreciative whistle at the great complex looming before them.

Kathy's eyes widened, some of the color draining from her cheeks. "_Dio Mio_, I'd forgotten how big it was!" 

_"Corragio!"_ Bogg exhorted, dredging up the appropriate word from his limited store of Italian. "I'm sure you'll be great. Would you be willing to accept the moral support of a Good Samaritan?"

Kathy exhaled, a little shakily. "Mister, at this point, I'll accept any kind of support I can get!"

**--xxx--**

Despite Kathy's earlier mishap, they arrived with time to spare. According to the secretary, there were five women trying out, and Kathy drew the fourth spot. Bogg watched her disappear backstage with the other applicants, then made his way towards the back of the theater where he could watch without disturbing the performers or the auditioning committee, which was seated just before the stage. To his relief, he wasn't the only person accompanying a friend to an audition; in fact, there were several people in street clothes occupying the rear seats and none raised any objection when he joined them.

Once seated, he surreptitiously checked the Omni again. When Kathy had mentioned being pushed in the street, he had wondered if he'd already accomplished his mission by saving her. But obviously, there was more to be done here if the red light was still flashing, and it was. Bogg stifled a sigh. One of the more annoying things about an Omni was its inability to inform a Voyager whether one thing had to be fixed in history--or half a dozen.

So, here he was, preparing to listen to opera--not exactly his kind of music. Still, he decided, as the first applicant took the stage, it would be interesting to see how Kathy did. Jeffrey had always been so close-mouthed about his mother, yet his resemblance to her, in looks and personality, was striking; getting to know her like this was like meeting someone familiar and a stranger at the same time.

As compositions, the arias made little impression on Bogg who couldn't have distinguished between Verdi, Handel, and Wagner if his life depended on it. He was likewise ignorant of the fine points of operatic technique. He did know what kind of sounds he liked, though. In his opinion, the first singer had a voice that was light and pretty but not that powerful. The second's was intriguingly dark and rich, completely different from the first's. The third performer had a high voice like the first one, but it tended to go thin and wavery on the top notes. And the singer herself appeared nervous and miserable throughout, as if she knew she was doing badly. Bogg was sympathetic but not surprised when the committee stopped her after one piece and thanked her politely for coming. She left the stage quietly but looking close to tears all the same.

Then it was Kathy's turn. Bogg sat up a little straighter, when she walked onto the stage and handed her music to the accompanist. Beneath the stage lights, she looked pale, her eyes and hair correspondingly dark, but she carried herself well and seemed more composed than the girl who had preceded her. 

The notes of her first aria--something called "Voi che sapete"--sounded slightly tentative but she soon overcame that, and the rest of the song proceeded smoothly. She had a nice voice, Bogg thought, warm and full, though not as dark as the second singer's, and the top notes weren't a problem for her at all. He was glad when the committee asked her to sing again.

Her second selection surprised him, and he sensed he wasn't the only one. He'd never heard of Henry Purcell or "Dido and Aeneas" before--there weren't many operas written in English, were there?--but "Dido's Lament" turned out to be hauntingly beautiful

_"When I am laid in earth,"_ Kathy sang, her voice achingly sad and sweet. _"May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast . . . "_

Her last _"Remember me, but ah, forget my fate!" _seemed to echo through the theatre. Bogg had to remind himself not to applaud, especially since there was one more singer left. Number five sang well too, though Bogg preferred Kathy and the second woman. When the auditions were over, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that the committee shared his preferences: Jeffrey's mother was now a singer with the New York City Opera.

Unfortunately, the Omni's light was still red.

**--xxx--**

"Congratulations!" Bogg greeted her as she approached, now flushed and bright-eyed over her success. 

Kathy laughed, a ripple of pure happiness. "_Grazie, signore_!" Unexpectedly, she stooped over him and brushed her lips against his cheek. "I think you brought me luck, Mister Bogg. First, you keep me from getting run over, then you come to my audition, and now, here I am!"

"You're the one who had to do the singing," Bogg pointed out, his cheek tingling oddly from that brief, light kiss. "That had to be the hardest part." He hesitated, then ventured gamely forward. "My friends call me Phineas, by the way."

She tilted her head to one side, then smiled. "Then--Phineas it is. And you already know what to call me."

He smiled back, rising to his feet. "Ready to go--Kathy?"

She nodded. "Let's see if my errant boyfriend has finally shown up."

The afternoon sun was still high in the sky, when they walked out onto the Plaza. Bogg's eyes were adjusting to the light when Kathy's voice rang out beside him in a shriek of truly operatic proportions.

_"Caro! Lo ho ottenuto!"_

_"Bravissima!"_ a deep male voice exclaimed in response.

Bogg's vision cleared just in time to see Kathy throwing herself into the outstretched arms of a dark-haired man wearing a faded sports jacket. Entwined, they swung about in a laughing circle before he set her down.

Kathy looked back at Bogg, smiling. "Phineas, this is my fiancé--Bill Jones."

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: In the last installment, Bogg embarked on his solo mission—and encountered a pair of familiar faces. This time around, our heroes find a way to communicate with each other and start trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Features some techno-speak, a hint of sensuality, a dollop of angst, and a smattering of corny '60's slang -- consider yourself forewarned! Once again, any geographical errors are all my own. – T&T

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 6

Why was the Omni still red?

Seated on one of the Plaza's benches, Bogg scowled down at the device, its red light still flashing on and off in the sunlight. Irritated, he flipped the lid shut and mentally reviewed the events of the afternoon: meeting Jeffrey's mother, keeping her from getting run down in the street, escorting her to an audition before handing her over, safe and sound to her fiancé, Jeffrey's father.

No problems there. Not that Bogg could see, anyway.

_She's got a great new job, she's getting married in three days, she's with the right guy . . . what's wrong with this picture?_

They had left him less than ten minutes ago, a happily engaged couple eager to be alone together. Kathy, of course, had told Bill all about Bogg's rescuing her, and Bill had shaken Bogg's hand and thanked him profusely. There had been no sign of jealousy or insecurity in that exchange either: Bill was as open and sincere as his bride-to-be. 

Now knowing with whom he was dealing, Bogg had examined the man closely as they shook hands. Except for being dark-haired, Bill Jones hadn't much resembled his son, not the way Kathy did, at any rate. He'd been pleasantly ordinary in appearance, just a little above average height. But there had been something in his stance, in the straightforward way he looked at you that reminded Bogg of Jeffrey.

_He sees more than most people_, the Voyager had realized. _Just like the kid._

They'd invited him to come for coffee with them, but sensing that they really wanted privacy and knowing that Susan would soon come in search of him, he'd declined. Kathy, however, had handed him a business card from her purse.

"My uncle owns a restaurant -- best Italian place in the city," she had reported proudly. "I help out there several nights a week, including tonight. Come on down sometime and I promise you a great meal, on the house. It's the least I can do for the Good Samaritan who saved my life!"

Bogg had thanked her and tucked the card away in his wallet. At least he had a way of keeping in touch with the kid's parents, if necessary. He'd watched them depart--Bill's arm about Kathy's slim waist, her dark head resting against his shoulder--before taking out the Omni once more.

Which was currently proving to be no help at all. _Bat's breath._

"Hey, big guy," a breathy female voice suddenly purred in his ear.

Bogg almost jumped out of his skin. Turning his head sharply, he goggled at the scantily clad blonde, her hair caught up in a cascading ponytail, who was draping herself over the back of the bench. Heavily mascara-ed eyes surveyed him coquettishly over the rims of her oversized sunglasses. 

"I've got this groovy pad where we can go to crash," she continued. "How about it?"

_"Susan?"_ Bogg asked, incredulous, and thought he would pass out from shock when the apparition closed one eye at him in a slow wink.

**--xxx--**

"Right this way," Susan directed, thankfully speaking like her normal self again. Fitting her key into the lock, she opened the door and gestured him inside.

"Nice place," Bogg approved, as he entered the small but tastefully furnished apartment. "Must've cost a pretty penny, though."

"I'll be able to write it off as a business expense," she informed him. "Especially since I'm so rarely in the field. But I thought we'd need a base of operations to work from, so I had Bryce and Beckett scour the area for sublets or short-term rentals. I Omnied in about an hour or two ahead of you and made sure we got this place before I tracked you down at Lincoln Center."

"Good thinking." Bogg dropped onto one of the armchairs occupying the living-room. He had filled Susan in on the particulars of his afternoon as they walked to the subway--a mode of transportation that beggared description--but if they were to sort out the as-yet-undiscovered problems with Jeffrey's timeline, they'd need a place to hole up and strategize.

"It's officially a one-bedroom apartment but that couch pulls out into a bed. We can flip a coin for it."

"You take the bed, the couch will do just fine for me," Bogg insisted. 

Acknowledging his gallantry with a nod, Susan perched on the edge of the other armchair, crossing elegant legs shown to considerable advantage by her hot-pink miniskirt and fishnet stockings. "How's the new Omni working?"

With an effort, Bogg averted his gaze from those alluring legs. Despite the seriousness of their mission, he couldn't help being slightly distracted by Susan's assumption of "period" clothing. "So far, so good. I like that it didn't drop me in mid-air like my old one always does."

Susan smiled. "Yes, that's one of our most popular new features. It took a while to make the alteration cost-effective and reliable, but we're getting there. Of course, the new technology isn't foolproof and you could still end up literally poised on the edge of a cliff when you Omni in, but overall, our trainees think it's an improvement."

"Definitely an improvement," Bogg affirmed. "Especially since I arrived in a subway station. My old Omni probably would have dropped me on top of the train. Or worse, in front of it!"

"If you'd been in that kind of danger, we'd have pulled you out again, but the VLS reported that you'd arrived safely. Although," she added, "we were pretty startled by _when_ you showed up. We thought you'd Omni in about three or four years later."

"After Jeff was born, you mean? I was surprised about that myself."

"Well, Bryce said that there was a five-year-margin on either side of Jeffrey's timeline in standard, so on further examination, this occurrence isn't as unusual as we first thought. Or as difficult to handle."

Bogg sighed. "I dunno. It's asking a lot of the kid to remember things that took place before he even existed."

"Phineas, he does that every time he Voyages with you," she pointed out. "But you can ask him yourself soon enough."

"I can?"

Susan leaned forward, pulled out a briefcase from under the coffee table and opened it. To Bogg's bemusement, she removed what looked like a headset and a metal box about the size of a miniature tape recorder. "This is R&D's newest invention -- a two-way holographic transmitter, or HGT for short. It marks their latest breakthrough in Intertemporal Communication."

"Intertemporal --?"

"Meaning it's especially designed to help Voyagers communicate across different time periods," Susan explained. "This one," she tapped the device, "is set to HQ's coordinates--and its mate, which is in Jeffrey's possession, is currently set to yours."

"You mean, I can talk to the kid? Directly?"

"Your HGT will project a holographic image of you back to HQ. Likewise, Jeffrey's will show you an hologram of _him, _here. The headset," Susan deftly inserted the end of the power cord into the transmitter's jack, "is so that you will be able to hear as well as see each other."

"What about the risk to Jeffrey?" Bogg asked. "You told us he couldn't enter the time stream."

"Not physically," Susan acknowledged. "But you'll only be seeing a projection of Jeffrey in this time setting. Jeffrey himself will be back at Headquarters. Any risk to him should be minimal."

"Should be," Bogg echoed, not entirely liking the sound of that.

Susan sighed. "Phineas, there's no ironclad guarantee of anything, even in Voyaging. What I _can_ tell you is that the majority of the field tests for the HGT have proven successful, posing no apparent threat to the users. And you know Jeffrey," she added, with a faint smile. "Even if the risk factor were higher, he'd still want to contact you and give what help he can."

"More guts than sense, sometimes," Bogg muttered, but he couldn't suppress the relief he felt at the thought of seeing the kid again.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Susan retorted, still smiling.

"You got me," he admitted, holding up a hand. "So--how does this thing work?"

Susan handed over the whole unit. "Put the headset on, point the transmitter at a large area of blank space, and flick the main switch, right here. And then--just wait. Jeffrey's on stand-by--he'll be clicking on his own transmitter as soon as he sees your hologram."

"That simple, huh?" Bogg asked, gingerly donning the headset and adjusting the fit.

"That simple," Susan assured him, rising from her chair. "I'm going to go unpack. Since we may be here for a while, I brought along some changes of clothing for both of us. And you and Jeffrey would probably prefer some privacy while you talk."

"Thanks."

"If you need me, just yell," she said, and slipped out of the living-room.

Bogg waited until he heard the bedroom door close, then leveled the transmitter towards the opposite wall and flicked on the switch she had indicated.

The immediate results were startling: a rectangle of white light, about the size of a projection screen, materialized midway between him and the wall. It looked, Bogg thought bemusedly, as if a doorway had opened to another dimension.

Seconds later the doorway expanded, in width and depth, to form a corridor . . . a corridor in which a familiar figure suddenly appeared.

"Bogg!" Jeffrey's voice rang out with startling clarity.

"Jeff!" Leaving his seat, Bogg strode towards the center of the room, dropped to one knee before his partner -- or rather, before his partner's hologram. But the sharpness and detail of the image were astounding: he could see every wayward curl on the boy's head, make out each lash surrounding the wide dark eyes . . . 

"How you doin', kid?" He spoke gruffly, to hide his emotion.

"Okay, so far," Jeffrey replied sturdily. He too was wearing a headset and carrying a transmitter. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too." Bogg sat back on his haunches. "As you can tell, I arrived in one piece -- and I met your mother."

A series of expressions flickered across the boy's mobile face, too quickly for Bogg to read them all. "After hearing where you ended up, I wondered if that might happen."

"You, uh," Bogg cleared his throat nervously, "you look a lot like her."

A corner of Jeffrey's mouth lifted in what was almost a smile. "That's what my dad always said. Did you meet him too?"

"Yeah, I met them both, in West Side Manhattan. Was I _supposed_ to?" he inquired cautiously. 

Jeffrey pursed his lips in thought. "The timing's about right," he said at last. "In 1968, my dad was working at Columbia University as a teaching assistant, and my mom was studying voice and trying out for legit opera companies."

"Yeah, I know. She was on her way to an audition at Lincoln Center this afternoon. Except that she almost didn't make it there."

Jeffrey leaned forward, instantly alert. "What happened?"

"She fell while crossing the street. She could've been run over--and she said it felt like someone pushed her. It's okay now," he added hastily as Jeffrey's eyes widened in alarm. "I got her to safety and she wasn't even hurt, just a little shook up. And I stayed with her until your dad met up with us after her audition. Did your mom really sing with the New York City Opera?"

The boy nodded. "For about two years. Then she left because she and Dad were starting a family. But when I was old enough to go to school, she went back to singing with the Amato sometimes. She seemed happy there -- Dad said she could have been a diva, if she'd wanted to."

"I believe him, now that I've heard her," Bogg acknowledged. "You never told me she was so talented, kid. Or such a looker."

"Bogg . . . " There was a slight edge to Jeffrey's voice. "That's my mom you're drooling over."

"Well, your mom is worth drooling over," Bogg retorted, unable to resist teasing the boy. "Relax, kid," he added as Jeffrey's mouth tightened ominously, "she's only got eyes for your dad. She told me they're getting married in three days."

"July 13, 1968," the boy confirmed with a nod. "Their wedding. I've seen pictures. They went to Fire Island for a weekend, because they couldn't afford a honeymoon yet."

"And your mom's family ran a restaurant in Little Italy."

"Uh-huh. Aldo's. Mom was working there part-time while Dad was writing his master's thesis. She'd take me with her sometimes, on weekends. The family sold the place when I was four because Great-Grandmother Rossini had passed away and my great-uncle decided to retire to Florida."

"So everything seems to be on track, as far as you know?"

"As far as I know. But if everything was okay, the Omni wouldn't be red, right?"

"Right." Bogg rubbed his forehead. "Jeff, I don't wanna scare you, but I'm getting a bad feeling about your mom's little 'accident.'"

"So am I," the boy said, with a faint shiver. "You think someone might've pushed her after all?"

"Maybe." Bogg hesitated, then ventured another question. "Your parents have any enemies, kid?"

"No!" The boy's denial was immediate and vehement; then he flushed slightly. "Well, maybe there are always folks you don't get along so great with," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean they're out to get you, does it? I didn't like some of the kids I went to school with, but I didn't try pushing them under a bus or anything like that."

Bogg made a noncommittal noise, remembering how a few of his own classmates from the Academy had not been above pulling a dirty trick or two. On the other hand, nobody had tried anything really lethal -- with one glaring exception . . . 

"Anyway," his partner resumed, "Dad had a lot of friends, in and out of college. They both did. My dad was a great guy, and my mom was . . . she was . . ." Jeffrey broke off suddenly and ducked his head, but not before Bogg saw the liquid shimmer of tears in his eyes.

"Kid," he began, wishing it were possible to hug a hologram.

"She was beautiful," the boy said finally.

"Jeff, I'm sorry."

The boy scrubbed a hand across his eyes, cleared his throat, and looked up at last. "Why?" he managed to ask. "It's not like any of this is _your_ fault . . . "

"Because it's so hard on you. I thought it might be, but I didn't know it'd be _this_ hard. Hearing about your parents when . . . " Bogg broke off, not wanting to cause his partner more distress.

"When I know what's gonna happen later?" Jeffrey finished. 

Bogg nodded, feeling as miserable as the boy looked.

"Yeah, I lost my parents." The pain in Jeffrey's voice was as jagged as broken glass. "And yeah, it hurts. It'll hurt forever. But never knowing them would've been a thousand times worse." He swallowed hard. "Keep them safe, Bogg. I'm counting on you."

"I won't fail them," Bogg promised. "Or you."

Jeffrey summoned up a wan smile from somewhere and stretched out a hand, palm out. Understanding, Bogg raised his own hand and placed his palm against the image of the boy's, as if they could reach across the ages to touch and give comfort. 

Then Jeffrey's hologram flickered out, and Bogg was alone again.

About five minutes later, Bogg heard the bedroom door open.

"Everything okay out there?" Susan called.

_Okay might be pushing it_, Bogg thought. Aloud, he called back. "All clear."

Susan came into the living room and resumed her former seat. "Did the HGT work out?"

"Like a dream," Bogg admitted. "Thanks for suggesting it."

"I can't take any credit for that -- Olivia's actually the one who thought of it. She told me the instructors have started using the HGTs on trial missions with the senior trainees, to keep from losing track of them."

"Well, whoever thought of it, it sure came in handy. Anyway, the kid told me that, so far, the timeline's going as it should. But he got pretty nervous when he heard about his mother's close call today."

"Understandable," Susan agreed. "In fact, under the circumstances, it might be a good idea to keep a close eye on her -- and on Jeffrey's father too -- until they've safely tied the knot. Fortunately, you've got the perfect means to reestablish contact with them."

"You're right, I do," Bogg conceded, belatedly recalling the card in his wallet. "So -- how do you like Italian food?"

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Owing to real life demands and other factors, progress on this chapter kept bogging down (no pun intended). But for those still following along, here it is at last. In this installment, Jeffrey struggles with temptation, while Bogg and Susan hatch a plan to watch over his soon-to-be-married parents -- but is somebody listening in? 

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 7

Jeffrey removed his headset and pushed it, along with his HGT, to a corner of the desk. He was dimly aware of the sounds drifting in through the observation chamber's half-open door--the clicks and whirrings of Mission Control's various processors--but he couldn't bring himself to leave the chamber or close the door. Depression washed over him in a swamping wave and, to his horror, the world before him suddenly became a watery blur.

Pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyelids, he fought to keep his emotions in check. He was a teenager now, too old to be dissolving in tears over every bad thing that happened, to him or to anyone else for that matter. And he'd told Bogg the truth: however much the loss of his parents hurt, he'd rather have had them for even a short time than never have known them at all. But knowing that did nothing to ease the ache in his heart.

There was the thump of a crutch just behind him, and a box of tissues appeared at his elbow. "Blow," Olivia's voice advised him gently.

He took two tissues and obeyed, hiding his face until he thought he could hold on to his composure. Shoving the crumpled tissues in his jeans pocket, he used a third to wipe his eyes before glancing up at Olivia through damp lashes. "Thanks," he managed to get out.

To his relief, she didn't ask him if he was okay. Instead, she simply ran a hand up and down his back and over his shoulders. It felt surprisingly good, easing knots of tension he hadn't been aware of until that moment. His mom used to give backrubs too, mostly to his dad. If he just closed his eyes and pretended . . . but that was no good. Fourteen-year-old boys didn't take refuge in make-believe either.

Jeffrey sniffled, wiped again at his eyes, and sat up a little straighter. "Sorry to be such a wimp."

"You're doing fine," Olivia assured him. "Some of my trainees would be having hysterics right now if they were in your shoes."

"Yeah, but no one rags on girls if they cry."

"Who said I was talking about girls?" Olivia retorted. She looked at Jeffrey, her expression softening. "Nobody's going to rag on you, I promise. This is your life on the line, kid --your memories being stirred up. You've got a right to be this upset."

Her kindness brought him close to tears again. To save himself, he quickly seized on the problem his partner had presented. "Bogg told me somebody might have tried to hurt my mom today. Back in 1968," he clarified. "He asked me if my folks had any enemies. And I've thought really hard, but I can't come up with anyone who'd want to hurt _either_ of them."

Olivia frowned. "That's a pretty scary thing to contemplate--no wonder you're on edge!"

Against his will, Jeffrey felt his eyes starting to sting afresh. "It was bad enough that I couldn't save them in the accident. I can't fail them this time too!"

"Shhh." Olivia rubbed his shoulders again. "You won't fail them. You and Phineas will figure everything out, just like you always do. Together or apart, you're still one of the best teams in the field."

"Yeah, well--maybe it's better that we're _apart_, right now," Jeffrey muttered. "I mean, I miss him and all, but . . . " His voice trailed off and he stared down at his hands, now crumpling the tissue into a ball.

"But--?" she prompted.

"I keep thinking about my parents. And how Bryce said that if I wanted my future--this future--to turn out the same, then my past has to stay the way I remember it too." He swallowed. "But if I'd been able to go with Bogg this time, maybe it would have been too hard not to -- to interfere."

"You mean, change things?" Olivia put her arm around him. "Make it so the accident never happened?"

Jeffrey nodded, grateful for the understanding. "I don't think I could resist the temptation to save them," he confessed. "Save them, or die trying."

Olivia's encircling arm tightened. "Well, I can tell you one thing -- Phineas would definitely object to your doing the second!" 

"And I know we're not supposed to change history, especially for our own benefit," Jeffrey went on, his words almost tumbling over themselves. "But my folks were good, loving people -- how could it have been right to let them die? How can it be right to let _anyone _who's good and loving die? And in some stupid, senseless _accident_ . . . " He choked to a stop, unable to continue.

Olivia knelt down on her good leg beside his chair and enfolded him in a fierce hug. "You think you're the only one who's ever asked that question? Or been tempted to go back and undo something in the past? Accepting that we can't -- or recognizing that interference on that scale comes with a price -- is one of the first lessons Voyagers have to learn. And the hardest." She pulled back slightly and Jeffrey saw with a shock that her own eyes had filled. "I wish you hadn't had to learn it so young," she added softly. 

Jeffrey swallowed again, painfully. "I don't regret meeting Bogg or becoming a Voyager. But I can't help wondering what would have happened . . . if my folks had lived," he finished in a whisper. 

Olivia shook her head. "I don't have any answers for you. I wish I did. But Jeffrey, no matter what happens, you've got people who care about you right here, right now. Phineas, Susan, me -- just to name a few. And we'll do everything in our power to give you a future -- whatever you decide to make of it once it's yours."

Jeffrey nodded mutely. He understood what she was saying, and he appreciated that she was trying to make him feel better -- about everything. It was just so hard to focus on the future, when he knew that everything in his past was suddenly in doubt.

**--xxx--**

"Bat's breath!" Bogg glared at his reflection and attempted once again to master a Windsor knot.

"Forget the tie, Phineas," Susan advised, coming up behind him. "It's summer -- you'll be much more comfortable without it."

He turned away from the mirror, with a grimace. "Yeah, but what about how I'll _look_?"

Susan smiled. "Allow me." Removing the tie, she undid the first two buttons on his shirt and nudged the wings of his collar further apart. "Now, if you'll just shuck off that jacket and go with this instead . . . "

Bogg obeyed, exchanging the gray tweed for the lighter-weight navy blazer she was holding out for him.

Susan studied the result with evident approval. "I thought so. The color really brings out your eyes, Phineas. Now just relax--you look great."

"So do you," Bogg replied.

Rather to his relief, Susan had toned down her make-up, using only enough to darken her brows and lashes slightly and play up the blush along her cheekbones. Even her lipstick was a soft, unthreatening pink. Her outfit for the evening was also less outrageous, though very becoming: a pale blue minidress, patterned in swirls of white and silver, silver sandals, and a gauzy white blouse, worn like a jacket over the dress. 

Under different circumstances, he knew he'd be seriously turned on, and the irony did not escape him. Here he was, embarking on a date of sorts, with a woman he'd fantasized about for years--yet most of his present thoughts revolved around a second woman he could never have, a man he would never think of betraying, and their someday son, who had come to mean the world to him.

Jeffrey. Inevitably, his thoughts went back to his partner. "Keep my folks safe," the boy had exhorted, and he'd promised to do exactly that. 

If only he knew just what he was keeping them safe _from_.

Susan's voice broke into his thoughts. "Ready to brave the subway again?" 

Coming back to the present, Bogg grimaced but nodded and offered her his arm. 

On the way to and from the subway station, they worked out the details of the answers they'd give if asked about their lives and jobs in New York City. Bogg couldn't help but be impressed: Susan might not have chosen fieldwork as her vocation but she approached it with the same meticulousness she'd shown in her Academy studies, all those years ago. His own approach was more casual: his good looks and easy manners usually helped him adapt to new surroundings fast. 

Aldo's, on Grand Street, was not an especially large or impressive-looking restaurant, but it had a pleasantly homey atmosphere and was redolent of enticing smells. It was busy too, Bogg noticed as he escorted Susan inside. While not standing room only, the place was clearly doing a brisk trade.

He spotted Kathy at the hostess's station almost immediately, though she was dressed differently than she'd been that afternoon. Tonight, she wore an off-the-shoulder white peasant blouse and a wine-red full skirt the same shade as the rose pinned in her hair, now loose about her shoulders in a mane of dark curls. Although Bogg had warned Susan earlier about the resemblance between Jeffrey and his mother, he still felt her do an almost imperceptible double-take when she saw Kathy's face. Fortunately, she recovered quickly as Kathy approached them, bearing two menus in her hand.

"Phineas!" Kathy greeted him with every sign of pleasure. "Glad you decided to come tonight, after all."

"Yeah, my girlfriend here," Bogg indicated Susan, "said she'd heard the food was terrific and we should try it, since we haven't gone out to dinner in a while."

Smiling, Kathy turned to Susan. "Well, I admit I'm biased, but I think we've got the best Italian place in Manhattan, Miss --"

"Susan Chase," the other woman supplied, smiling back. 

"Kathy Rossini," Jeffrey's mother introduced herself in turn. "Would you prefer smoking or non-smoking?"

"Non-smoking, please," Susan replied. "The smell always gives me a headache."

"Me too," Kathy confessed. "And the smoke's terrible for the throat too. Right this way."

Expertly threading her way through the crowded restaurant, she led them to a table in a quieter section of the dining room. A familiar face looked up from the table opposite as they approached.

"We meet again," Jeffrey's father remarked pleasantly.

A stroke of luck, Bogg thought, giving the man his friendliest smile. "Nice to see you. Bill Jones, right? This is Susan Chase."

Bill stood up to shake Susan's outstretched hand, then reach for Bogg's again. "How do you do? Kathy here," he indicated his fiancée with a nod, "was hoping you might stop by. We're having a bit of a celebration tonight, once she gets off-shift--and since you partly contributed to it, why don't you and your date join us?"

"Oh, we don't want to intrude--" Bogg began.

"You wouldn't be intruding," Kathy interrupted, smiling. "The more the merrier, in fact. Unless you and Susan would prefer some privacy--"

"On the contrary, I love a celebration," Susan said brightly. "What's the occasion?"

Bill smiled fondly. "Kathy landed a place with the New York City Opera company today."

Susan turned to Kathy. "Congratulations! You must be over the moon."

"Oh, I am," Kathy replied. "It's a wonderful opportunity. But, in case your boyfriend was too modest to mention it earlier," she added, smiling at Bogg, "he saved my life this afternoon, on the way to Lincoln Center. So, why don't you two make yourselves comfortable, and order whatever you like. It's on the house." Placing their menus on the table, she turned to Bill. "See you in five minutes, _caro mio_. Uncle wants me to serenade an engaged couple before I go off-duty."

"Have a seat," Bill invited Bogg and Susan, indicating the vacant chairs at his table. 

With alacrity they obeyed, Bogg seating Susan first, and then reached for their menus.

"I can recommend the calamari appetizer," Bill suggested. "And the cold antipasto platter is also great, especially on a hot summer night."

In the midst of their discussion of various dishes, a pure female voice rose effortlessly in song from another part of the dining room. _"O mio babbino caro, mi piace è bello, bello . . . "_

Susan's eyes widened. "That's Puccini," she whispered, in delighted recognition.

"Mm." Bogg wouldn't have known the difference between Puccini and porcini, but he decided not to admit as much.

Bill's smile was tinged with nostalgia. "I first heard her sing the night we met. _Un moto di gioia -- _I've always been a sucker for Mozart. Right after she finished the last note, I went over and introduced myself. She hasn't been able to get rid of me since."

"By the looks of it, she doesn't want to," Susan pointed out, smiling back. "Phineas mentioned that you were getting married soon."

"This Saturday," Bill confessed. "We've been engaged for almost a year."

"You must really be looking forward to it, then," Susan said. "Going any place special for the honeymoon?"

Bill shook his head. "A big wedding trip's not in our budget just yet, though we might manage to get away for the weekend. At least we have a place to move into, afterwards." 

"You two find a nice apartment?" Bogg asked, now entering the conversation.

"Better than that," Bill reported proudly. "Professor Carson, one of my graduate advisors, is going on sabbatical and he's renting out his house in Queens. He said he'd rather rent to somebody he knew, so Kathy and I got lucky. It's not a big place but it's fine for a couple just starting out. We're even throwing a small housewarming party there tomorrow night."

The reek of cigar smoke suddenly drifted their way. Susan's nostrils flared and Bogg felt his own nose wrinkle slightly. Not that he'd never smoked a few times in his life, but the smell was definitely overpowering in these intimate surroundings.

"Isn't this the non-smoking section?" he asked.

Bill nodded. "Give it a minute. Aldo's is pretty firm about keeping smoking and non-smoking areas separate -- I'm sure whoever it is will be asked to put it out or be directed to another table."

He was correct. Within a few minutes, the worst of the smell had dissipated, though traces still lingered in the air. Kathy joined them soon after, though Bogg noticed that her brows were knit and she looked decidedly annoyed about something.

"The joys of being a hostess," she explained, rolling her eyes. "I'm just getting off-shift, when the guy about two tables over from you lights up, all of the sudden. I told him this was the non-smoking area and offered to re-seat him in the smoking section." Kathy pulled a face. "He looked at me like I was a bug in his soup, stubbed out his stogie, then got up and stalked out."

"Without paying the bill?" her fiancé asked.

"No, he did leave some money on the table. I assume we're meant to keep the change. Not that it matters -- I'm sure his tips are as lousy as his manners."

"The down side of being in the restaurant business," Bill remarked, reaching up to administer a consoling pat on the back. "Rude customers."

Kathy sat down next to Bill. "Actually, most of our customers are pretty nice," she defended. "Just every now and then you get one with a really bad attitude, like this guy. Full of himself and convinced that the rules don't apply to him." She shook her curls as if to dislodge unpleasant thoughts and reached for a menu. "C'mon -- let's eat!"

**--xxx--**

Before dinner was over, the four of them were chatting like old friends. The quality of the food helped--from the crusty bread to the crisp salads and savory pastas, everything tasted great and Bogg and Susan were lavish in their praise. Susan's turning out to be an opera buff also smoothed things along, as she and Kathy enthusiastically discussed the merits of Verdi versus Puccini. By the time the entrees arrived, the two women had made a date for the following day to shop in the garment district, where Kathy had to go for a final fitting of her wedding gown.

Bogg's own opportunity arose when Bill mentioned that he'd be at the Queens house the next day, waiting for the movers to deliver some of their furniture. Quickly, Bogg had offered to lend a hand, pointing out that unpacking went a lot faster with two people than one. Bill had accepted his offer but only on the condition that Phineas and Susan stay for the housewarming too, a proposal that Kathy instantly seconded.

So everything seemed to be falling into place, Bogg thought with satisfaction. Even his concerns about the couple's safety for the rest of the evening were soon alleviated. Coming up the stairs from the men's room on the lower floor, he caught sight of Jeffrey's parents on the landing, sharing a kiss steamy enough to melt a whole carton of gelato.

"-- stay the night, _caro_?" Kathy murmured. "There's that extra bedroom at Nonna's."

"Sweetheart, I can't keep imposing on your grandmother! And you know I have to be at the house tomorrow early."

"I'll see that you make it," she promised. "And you know Nonna adores you. She'll whip you up some breakfast too. Your favorite--scrambled eggs with prosciutto and a piece of her famous crostata."

Bill chuckled. "Dragging out the heavy artillery? Well, if you're going to twist my arm like that . . . "

They submerged themselves in another kiss. Bogg shook his head, feeling amused and indulgent at the same time. _Crazy kids._ He deliberately trod hard upon the last two steps to let them know someone was approaching and smothered a grin when they hurriedly broke apart.

"Great evening, guys," he greeted them genially, betraying no sign of having witnessed their lip lock. "But it's time Susan and I called it a night."

"Thanks for coming," Kathy said, still standing within the circle of her fiancé's arm. "We're glad you enjoyed yourselves."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Bogg assured her. He turned to Bill. "What time, tomorrow?"

"Around ten would be fine," Bill replied. "The movers said to expect them before eleven. Have you still got the address?"

"Yeah, thanks -- it's in my wallet. I'll see you then." Bogg smiled at Kathy, shook Bill's hand, and headed back to the dining room to collect Susan.

**--xxx--**

"They really are nice people," Susan observed as they made their way back towards the subway station. "Bill's a good guy and Kathy's just lovely."

"Yeah, on both counts," Bogg agreed, frowning. "Which is why I can't see why anyone would want to hurt them."

Susan sighed. "I don't suppose the Omni's magically turned green in the last few hours?"

Bogg consulted the device. "Nope," he reported regretfully. 

"Then I guess we stick to tomorrow's plan," she said. "It can't hurt to keep an eye on them, all the same."

"I wish I had something more definite to tell the kid. He must be going frantic back at Headquarters."

"Well, he's got Olivia to talk him down, if he needs it," Susan reminded him. "I guess we're all going to have to be patient and let this play itself out. Some missions just take longer than others."

Bogg nodded reluctant agreement and flipped the Omni shut again as they neared the stairs to the underground.

It was well past eleven o'clock by the time they reached the apartment. A yawning Susan went straight to bed and, to judge from the complete silence emanating from her room, fell asleep soon after. Bogg, however, lay awake on the sofa bed, feeling far too wired to follow her example, though he couldn't have said whether the cause was nerves, the lumpy mattress, or the iced cappuccino he'd ordered at dinner.

Irritably, Bogg thumped his pillow a few times and shifted his position. He couldn't afford insomnia right now. Tomorrow he would need to be awake and alert, especially if he was spending the day with Bill Jones, trying to protect him from possible threats to his life. Jeffrey was counting on him.

Gradually, drowsiness began to steal over him; he felt his muscles relaxing, his lower limbs growing pleasantly numb. Thoughts still drifted through his mind, though, formless and insubstantial as smoke. Cigar smoke. Cigar . . . something about a cigar . . . Bogg's eyes drifted shut, then suddenly snapped open as a white light filled the living room.

A light shaped like a doorway into the future.

"Kid?" Fully awake again, Bogg rolled over and grabbed his own HGT from the end table, donning the headset and activating the switch. 

Again the holographic corridor materialized in the center of the living room, and there stood, or rather sat, his partner -- cross-legged -- on what looked like one of the infirmary beds. "Yeah, Bogg -- it's me."

"What are you still doing up at this hour?" As his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that Jeffrey was back in the white nightshirt he'd worn after his medical examination. "Hey, you okay? You didn't have a relapse, did you?"

"I'm fine," the boy reassured him. "But Olivia told me to get some sleep before I fell on my face. They let me take the HGT back to the infirmary with me, when I asked."

"Pretty high-tech security blanket," Bogg remarked. "You know, most kids just take a teddy bear to bed with them."

Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break, Bogg. I never even _owned_ a teddy bear!"

"Then I'll get you one for your next birthday," Bogg said, straight-faced. "Along with a pair of those cute pajamas with feet . . . "

He couldn't keep up the pretense, though, at the sight of the kid's horrified expression. He chuckled, Jeffrey glowered, and for a moment, everything seemed -- normal. As if they weren't separated by what could be centuries or dealing with anything more complicated beyond their usual give-and-take.

"Real funny, Bogg," the boy grumbled. "Now, if you're through busting my chops, can you tell me anything more about what's happening with my parents?"

"Well, Susan and I thought the smartest thing to do would be to go down to Aldo's tonight and keep an eye on your mom. Your dad was there too, so the four of us ended up having dinner together and getting real friendly . . . " Quickly, Bogg filled the boy in on the rest of the evening.

"So tomorrow," he concluded, "I'm gonna be helping your dad out at the house he's renting in Queens, while Susan goes shopping with your mom. We'll be sticking to them like glue the entire time, so I'd say all the bases are covered."

The boy looked apprehensive. "What about after dinner, though? Did my dad go back to his place alone?"

Bogg smirked. "I think your mom talked him into sleeping over."

Jeffrey blushed visibly as the meaning sank in. "Great," he muttered. "I think I'm gonna be scarred for life now!"

"Relax, kid. From the sound of it, your dad's spending the night in your great-grandmother's spare room. In any case, I figured he'd be safe enough, staying at his fiancée's house."

"Makes sense," Jeffrey acknowledged judiciously. "Dad always got along pretty well with Mom's family. They won't let anything happen to him, especially so close to the wedding."

"My thoughts exactly. So, how's it goin' with you, kid? Any brilliant ideas?"

The boy shook his head. "I've been thinking about what you asked me before, but I can't come up with anyone who'd want to push my mom in front of a car. _Or_ my dad, for that matter."

"Well, I don't wanna deal in clichés, but -- have you considered the possibility of organized crime?"

"Organized crime?" Jeffrey echoed, his brows arching incredulously.

"Yeah--like a protection racket. Or even the, uh," Bogg felt almost embarrassed to say the word aloud but pressed on regardless, "the Mafia."

Jeffrey's expression was indescribable. "Bogg," he said, after a lengthy pause, "I think you've seen 'The Godfather' too many times."

"I haven't even seen it _once_!" the older Voyager protested. "My old Omni only goes up to 1970!" 

"Well, I can vouch for my mom's family not being mixed up in anything like that," Jeffrey said with finality. "Besides, they came from Florence, not Sicily! I had to do a family tree once, for social studies."

"Okay, okay -- it was just a thought, and obviously not a very good one. Grasping at straws, I guess. It's not like we've gotten hold of anything more substantial yet."

"I feel like we're getting nowhere fast," the boy admitted, sighing.

"Yeah, me too. But Susan said some missions just take more time and we're gonna have to be patient. And given what's at stake," Bogg added pointedly, "I'd rather play it safe than go off half-cocked and screw everything up."

Jeffrey nodded, his dark eyes huge and solemn. "Bogg," he began, somewhat hesitantly, "if someone out there really is trying to hurt my mom and dad . . . he probably wouldn't care if you got hurt too."

"Probably not," Bogg conceded. "But, Jeff, I knew there might be risks right from the start. The point is, some things are worth the risk. Like our partnership and your life. _Especially_ your life." 

"Yeah, but _your_ life's just as important," Jeffrey countered, giving him Bill's level stare. "My folks were irreplaceable, Bogg. So are you. Promise you'll be careful?"

"I promise. Now, get some rest, kid."

"You too. G'night, Bogg." The boy's hologram flickered out again.

Deactivating his HGT, Bogg lay back in bed, feeling oddly cheered by his inclusion among the irreplaceable people in Jeffrey's life. It wasn't a contest, of course, and never had been. Jeffrey had adored his parents; Bogg understood that -- even more, now that he'd actually met them -- and he would never have tried to take their place. But then he hadn't needed to: the bond he and the kid had developed was strong enough to stand on its own. They were partners, friends, family . . . Jeff had insisted as much one memorable Christmas night in 1892.

All the same, it felt good to be reminded of that, now and then. Stretching out to his full length, Bogg closed his eyes and eventually drifted into a dreamless sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Chapter 8

In which Bogg and Susan continue their surveillance of Jeffrey's parents, Bogg thinks he sees something nasty in the basement, and a potential source of conflict enters the picture. Contains minor spoilers from the pilot episode, as well as some alpha-male silliness and several references to 1960s music.

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 8

"Where -- do -- you want -- this?" Bogg gasped.

"Right -- through here," Bill grunted.

Sweating and straining, they maneuvered the sofa through the doorway and set it down on the living room rug before collapsing on top of it with identical sighs of relief.

"Thanks," Bill said, when he'd gotten his breath back. "You were right. Unpacking and unloading goes a lot faster with two people."

"The extra muscle comes in handy too," Bogg pointed out.

"Well, I sure wouldn't have wanted to tackle the couch all by myself," Bill agreed. "How about we do something easy next?"

"Sounds good to me. What did you have in mind?"

Bill reached down and pulled one of the boxes under the coffee table towards him. "We can unpack these photographs and knick-knacks and start finding places for 'em."

"That's about my speed right now." Sitting up straighter, Bogg helped Bill untie the string around the box and lift the lid away.

Framed photographs of varying sizes formed the top layer of the box's contents. 

"Where should these go?" Bogg asked.

Bill considered them. "Some on the mantelpiece, some on the end tables. Let's see what we've got."

First came a faded, sepia-toned photograph of a young Italian couple, the man in uniform, the woman in a simple print dress.

"Kathy's parents," Bill explained, at Bogg's questioning look. "They met and married during World War II. Sadly, he was killed in the V-Day landing and never got to see his daughter. And her mom died of pneumonia about a dozen years ago. Kathy's been living with her paternal grandmother ever since."

Bogg made a sympathetic sound. "Should this go on the mantelpiece or the end table?"

"Mantelpiece, definitely. Along with this one." Bill lifted out what looked like a more recent photograph of a smiling middle-aged couple, a young girl of perhaps twelve, and a slightly younger version of Bill himself, in cap and gown. "Me, my parents, and my kid sister Elizabeth, at my college graduation."

Elizabeth. The aunt Jeffrey had been living with at the time Bogg met him. "A kid sister, huh? Any brothers?'

"Sadly, no. I was an only child until I was ten. It was great finally having a sibling, but I wish we weren't so far apart in age. It's like we didn't have much of a chance to become close, growing up. And now she's in high school, and living in her own little world of boys, clothes, and dates." Bill shook his head regretfully. "Well, maybe in time, the age gap won't seem so important. Besides, family is family."

"You and Kathy planning on starting a family yourselves?"

"We've talked about it. Maybe in a couple of years, after I'm through with my master's and she's gotten further with her singing. We can move to the suburbs, get a real place of our own, and start filling it with kids and dogs."

"Nice." Bogg tried to hide his lack of enthusiasm over that last part. Unbidden, a memory of Jeffrey's mutt, Ralph, all glaring eyes and gaping jaws, sprang to mind, and he pushed it firmly away.

Bill, however, was too astute for him. "Not a dog person, huh? Or is it the kids part you're objecting to?"

"Kids are okay," Bogg said. "But, I admit, I've never been that crazy about dogs." 

To his credit, Bill only nodded. "We always had dogs when I was growing up, but one of my friends was pretty scared of them. Mainly because he got bitten by one when he was small. My parents made sure our dog was tied up whenever he came over to play. Do you prefer cats?"

Bogg shrugged. "Never owned one. To tell the truth, it doesn't make sense for me to keep a pet 'cause I move around so much." That was part of the cover story he and Susan had devised to account for their brief presence in New York; it also had the advantage of being more or less true.

He reached into the box again, picked up a framed document announcing that William Stephen Jones had graduated summa cum laude from Columbia University in June 1965. "Your diploma?" he inquired, holding it out to Jeffrey's father.

"Yep." Bill set it on the coffee table beside the photographs. "I'll have to find a different place for this. It's too big for the mantelpiece."

"You were a history major, right?"

"Right. Never really thought of being anything else--at least once I gave up my dream of pitching for the Yankees." Bill smiled reminiscently. "It was a teacher who inspired me, made history come alive for the whole class. I thought, _I_ want to do that when I grow up. And then, once I started delving into the nature of history itself, I just got more and more fascinated." His eyes brightened as he warmed to his theme. "Just think about it: there are so many ways a situation can go, in the abstract. But ultimately, only one _becomes_ history, the version of events most familiar to the world. All the possibilities coalesce into a single reality, but at the same time, there are different _perspectives_ on that reality --" he broke off, with a self-deprecating laugh. "Sorry! Got carried away. You asked a simple question and I start giving a lecture."

"That's okay," Bogg assured him. "I'm afraid I wasn't much of a student, but history _is_ one of the more interesting subjects out there." Not for the first time, he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't applied himself more diligently to his studies at the Academy. If he'd had even half of Bill's obvious passion for history when he was first chosen as a Voyager . . . 

"I know," Bill said, with a wry grin. "Once I get started, I can talk for hours and that won't make the unpacking go any faster." He delved into the box again, emerged with several pictures. "These two on the mantelpiece," he directed. "And this one," he added, smiling fondly at the silver-framed photograph of his fiancée, "on our bedside table."

**--xxx--**

With two of them working, it wasn't long before the boxes were unpacked and their contents appropriately bestowed. Bill thought that there were some things Kathy might prefer to sort through herself, so he took those items into the bedroom.

Afterwards, they broke for lunch, helping themselves to cold cuts and bread from the generously stocked refrigerator.

"Might as well make room," Bill remarked, uncapping two bottles of root beer for himself and Bogg. "Kathy's folks will be sending her over with a ton of stuff for tonight."

Bogg took a healthy bite from his corned beef sandwich. "How many people are you expecting?" he inquired, when his mouth was no longer full.

"Besides Kathy and me? Maybe about a dozen. Friends of ours from college, one or two of the girls she met at the Amato, a couple of her cousins." Bill paused, frowning at his own sandwich. "I hope we've got enough chairs for everyone."

"Could you borrow some?"

"Maybe," Bill conceded. "But I don't want to impose on the neighbors this soon -- wait, I've got it, I think!" He looked up from his plate, with an air of discovery. "Professor Carson put most of his good furniture into storage, _but_ he said he left some odds and ends in the basement if we wanted to use them. Maybe there'll be some extra chairs."

After lunch, they ventured into the basement. Bill went down first, with the flashlight. Bogg followed cautiously, eyes straining to see through the gloom, then almost jumped out of his skin when he saw something move in the shadows beyond.

Bill paused, glancing over his shoulder. "You okay, Phineas?"

Bogg swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Something -- moved, down there," he reported in a hoarse whisper.

Bill turned his head sharply, shining his flashlight beam through the semi-darkness, then broke into a relieved laugh. "Here's the culprit! Boots, you idiot--how did you get down here?"

A disgruntled meow was the only response to his question. Bogg exhaled, feeling his heartbeat return to normal as a large cat--black with white paws--emerged from the shadows and promptly made for the stairs.

"He belongs to Mrs. Beatty, who lives next door," Bill explained. "But, according to Professor Carson, he likes to wander. He probably came in with the movers when they brought in the sofa, then decided he'd explore the basement and got shut in by accident. Now, a dog would start barking to be let out right away, but cats . . . " He shook his head in obvious bewilderment over feline ways, then shrugged and descended the remaining steps to the basement. "Eureka!" he exclaimed triumphantly, a few seconds later. "I think I've found what we're looking for!"

Two chairs stood in a corner of the basement. Bill shone the flashlight beam over them but detected nothing more serious than some scratches on their wooden frames. "They seem to be intact," he reported. "No tears in the upholstery either, as far as I can see. Think we can use them?"

"If they seem solid enough, sure," Bogg replied, almost absently. There was something about the basement that bothered him, but he couldn't yet identify what it was. He inhaled slowly, feeling his discomfort intensify. The room had a slightly musty, damp, closed-in smell, like a lot of basements, but there was another odor as well, faint but familiar. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine when he recognized it.

"Does Professor Carson smoke?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

"Like a chimney," Bill replied. "It's a common vice among academics, I'm afraid." He considered the chairs they were holding and wrinkled his nose. "I can smell it too. Maybe if we put these on the front lawn for a few hours, the upholstery will have a chance to air out and they won't reek of stale tobacco anymore."

"Sounds like a plan." Bogg relaxed on hearing this completely logical explanation. Still, he couldn't entirely rid himself of a sense of unease, and he was glad to mount the stairs and close the basement door behind them again.

**--xxx--**

Kathy and Susan arrived in the late afternoon, already dressed for the party and laden with groceries. As Bill had predicted, Kathy's grandmother and uncle had contributed enough refreshments to feed a small army. 

"They won't come themselves, though," Kathy reported regretfully, tying an apron over her pale green dress as she started to assemble the antipasto platter. "Uncle says he's needed at the restaurant, and Nonna doesn't like to go out in the evenings. Besides, she said young people should be allowed to mingle unchaperoned, now and then."

"We'll have a more family-oriented party after the wedding," Bill promised, leaning over her shoulder to steal a kiss and a black olive at the same time.

She swatted at his hand and missed, accidentally on purpose as far as Bogg could tell. 

"Everything looks delicious, Kathy," Susan declared, lifting out a plastic-wrapped tray of miniature cannoli from one of the grocery bags. "I can't imagine anyone not enjoying the food."

"Well, we also have things like pretzels, chips, and dip, just in case," Kathy said. "So there should be _something_ to please everyone."

"It'll be great," Bill assured her loyally. "Now, can I help you with anything?"

Kathy handed him one of the jars on the table. "You can open these marinated artichoke hearts, for a start. Nonna always seals the lids so tight."

"Anything I can do?" Bogg asked. 

"Thanks, but I think we've got nearly everything under control," Bill replied, unscrewing the jar lid with a loud pop. "Why don't you go and take the first shower, Phineas? After all that heavy lifting we did today, you'll be glad of one."

"And I stopped by our place on the way over and picked you up a clean shirt for tonight," Susan said brightly. "Let me get it for you."

"Thanks." Recognizing a cue, Bogg followed her out of the kitchen and into the living room.

"Everything go okay with you and Bill?" Susan murmured, once they were safely out of earshot.

"Just fine," Bogg reported. "We might be a little stiff after moving the living-room sofa, but other than that, nothing to report. How about you?"

"Oh, the shopping trip went off just fine too. But," Susan's brow furrowed slightly, "we did run into somebody when we were at Mrs. Rossini's house afterwards. One of Kathy's old boyfriends--a guy named Tony Sorvino."

Bogg shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells for me. Then again, Bill doesn't seem like the type to dwell on the guys his fiancée used to date."

"Well, Kathy told me a little about it on the way over here. Before she and Bill got together, she was seeing Tony, whom she'd known since they were kids. She said the Rossinis and Sorvinos are very distantly related, and for a while, both families thought they might hook up seriously. But then --" Susan shrugged.

"Then the kid's parents met, and that was that," Bogg finished. "What's this Sorvino guy like?"

"Tall, dark, and handsome -- and I'd say, very aware of it," she added, with a wry smile.

"Think he's still hung up on Kathy?"

"She doesn't seem to think so, and he was friendly enough when we ran into him. But they do say you never forget your first. On the other hand, he's going to be an usher at the wedding and he is stopping by tonight for the housewarming."

"We should probably keep an eye on him too, just in case." Bogg sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I wish I could ask the kid about this. I thought about bringing the HGT with me today, but thought it would be too hard to explain."

"It certainly would!" Susan retorted, sounding a little alarmed. "Not to mention what might have happened if it fell into the wrong hands. I'm glad you reconsidered, Phineas--this mission is complicated enough already."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Bogg assured her. "Well, even minus the HGT, we should be able to get through the evening without a hitch."

"I agree." Susan handed him a plastic bag that had been lying on the sofa. "Here's your shirt. Better hit the showers before the guests start showing up."

Bogg nodded and headed for the bathroom.

**--xxx--**

Bill and Kathy's friends were an eclectic bunch, ranging from young academic types like Bill himself to longhaired bohemians straight out of Greenwich Village. But everyone seemed disposed to get along, which said something about the couple's hosting skills. The food was a great icebreaker: appreciative cries greeted the antipasto platter, the bite-sized cannoli, and even the chips and dip.

Bill's college roommate--an aspiring artist with long sandy hair and a vague, dreamy smile--had appointed himself disc jockey for the evening and had lined up a number of singles on the record player. All were romantic or had something to do with love, he promised. Bill added that folks should feel free to dance, if they wanted.

As it turned out, quite a few people wanted, and soon the living room boasted several couples, including Bill and Kathy, twisting and twirling enthusiastically to some bouncy song about a brown-eyed girl and a transistor radio. Bogg, leaning against a wall, was aware that a couple of girls were giving him the eye but he deliberately refrained from encouraging them. Fortunately, Susan chose that moment to appear at his elbow.

"Everything okay?" she murmured, leaning close to him with the intimacy expected of couples.

"Fine, so far. Bogg lowered his own voice accordingly. "There are at least three Italian guys here--which one is Kathy's ex?"

"The one over there, dancing with the redhead," Susan replied, with a slight head-tilt in the specified direction.

"Mm." Bogg checked out the guy in question: tall, dark, handsome -- and yes, noticeably impressed with himself. Susan's description was all too apt. Bogg knew he wasn't free of male vanity either--Jeffrey pointed that out, from time to time--but there was still something about Tony Sorvino that set his teeth on edge. Maybe it was the way he was smiling down at the girl in his arms, as if he was doing her a favor by dancing with her. 

"Phineas," Susan nudged him gently. "You're staring."

"Sorry." He slid his gaze away, but still managed to watch from the corner of his eye. "Hey, if I ever get an expression like that on my face when I'm dancing with you -- just hit me, okay?"

She laughed softly. "Well, you'd have to _ask_ me to dance, first."

"Let me correct that oversight now. Shall we?"

"Delighted," she assured him. Together they ventured out of their quiet corner to dance to a song Susan identified as "I'm a Believer." Even with his mind mostly engaged by their mission, Bogg couldn't help noticing how gracefully Susan moved, her every step in time with the music, and how enticingly she fit within his embrace. Maybe afterwards, once Jeffrey's safety was assured, he could ask her out on a _real_ date--even if it was just for a cup of coffee--before he and the kid headed back into the field. Something to look forward to, at any rate.

After their dance, they helped themselves to cold soft drinks from the fridge and retreated into their corner to maintain an image of togetherness. Bill's phonograph was now playing a soft ballad, all wistful guitar strings, with the plaintive refrain of "parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme." Out of the corner of his eye, Bogg suddenly saw a flash of green: Kathy had descended upon the much-depleted antipasto tray and was carrying it back into the kitchen. A few seconds after she had vanished, Tony rose from his seat on the sofa, stretched, and strolled ever so casually in the same direction.

"Susan," Bogg murmured in her ear.

"I saw it too," she murmured back. "Bill sure picked the wrong time to visit the men's room"

"Give him a break. I'm betting Tony-Boy's been lying in wait for this all evening." Bogg pushed himself away from the wall. "You know, I think I could use another soda -- how about you?"

"Oh, that would be lovely," Susan replied, reading between the lines with no difficulty whatsoever.

Despite his size, Bogg could move quietly when he chose, although the music and the hum of various conversations also helped to cover the sound of his footsteps. Just outside the kitchen, he paused and listened intently. Tony's voice reached his ears first, his words catching Bogg's attention instantly.

"--can still change your mind," he was saying, his tone almost caressing.

There was a brief pause, then Kathy said lightly, "Oh, Bill and I both think we should have eloped to Niagara Falls months ago, but his parents and Nonna would have killed us."

"Katerina, I'm serious--"

"So am I," Kathy interrupted, her voice firmer now. "Serious about Bill, and serious about getting married on Saturday. So, please, no more talk about me 'changing my mind,' because it's _not_ going to happen." Another pause, then she resumed, almost gently. "You promised you'd dance at my wedding, remember?"

"Yeah." Tony's voice was so low Bogg had to strain to hear it. "Maybe, deep down, I still thought it might be _our_ wedding someday."

"I'm sorry." No mistaking the softness in her voice now. "But, Tony, someday, you're going to meet a wonderful girl who'll give you everything you ever wanted--and you'll be_ glad_ that things turned out this way, for both of us."

Tony made a noncommittal sound, and Bogg decided it was high time he brought this awkward encounter to a close.

"Hey, Kathy," he greeted her as he strolled into the room. "Just came in to get a soda for my date. Need an extra hand in here?"

She looked up and he saw the flash of gratitude in her dark eyes. "Thanks, Phineas--that'd be great."

Tony, obviously not pleased by the interruption, gave Bogg a much cooler reception. "Evening. I don't think we've met."

"Phineas Bogg, this is Tony Sorvino. Tony, Phineas." Kathy introduced them to each other.

Tony continued to regard Bogg suspiciously. "So, how do you know each other?"

"A common interest in the arts," Bogg replied with an offhand shrug, not caring how glib he sounded to this guy.

"Phineas came to my rescue a few days ago on the way to Lincoln Center," Kathy supplied, her own voice rather cooler than usual. "I might not have made my audition without his help."

Bogg suppressed a smile at her words. So Kathy wasn't above stretching the truth a bit herself: he appreciated that.

"Sorry," Tony replied, not sounding sorry at all. "No offense intended."

"None taken," Bogg said, with equal insincerity.

Tony smiled blindingly and straightened up until he was looming over Bogg, who bared his own teeth in an equally blinding smile and did his damndest to loom right back. Nor was he surprised when, accepting the taller man's outstretched hand, he felt Tony's grip tighten painfully.

Bonecrusher handshake. Nice. Concealing his discomfort, Bogg squeezed back just as hard and had the satisfaction of seeing the other man's jaw clench at the pressure.

"Listen," Kathy interrupted, and probably not a moment too soon. "I really have to get this platter back out there before the natives get restless. The chips and dip bowls need refilling too--can you get the dip out of the fridge, Phineas?"

"Sure thing." Reclaiming his hand, Bogg ambled over to the refrigerator, fully aware of Tony's eyes attempting to burn holes in the back of his head. 

"And Tony, you'd better get back to the party," Kathy continued. "I'm sure Sheila Preston is eager to dance with you again."

"Right." Even Tony couldn't ignore such a blatant hint, though Bogg was sure he'd have tried to if he could. "See you, Katerina. Nice meeting you, Phileas."

"Right back at you," Bogg drawled, not even bothering to correct him or watch him leave.

He located the carton of dip on the second shelf from the top. When he turned away from the refrigerator, it was to find Kathy regarding him with raised brows.

"Well, _that_ was interesting," she remarked, an unmistakable edge to her voice.

"What?" Bogg did his best to sound innocent.

"That little macho thing between you and Tony. I'm surprised you two didn't go out in the yard and start marking trees or something."

Bogg was starting to realize just where Jeffrey had gotten his smart mouth. "That obvious, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Any woman with half a brain can tell when two guys don't like each other. Tony isn't Bill's favorite person either, though he does a better job of hiding it."

"You know, if Bill doesn't like him, he's probably got a good reason for it," Bogg pointed out, opening the dip and spooning it into the appropriate bowl.

Kathy's eyes flashed. "That's not _my_ doing!"

"Never said it was," Bogg hastened to assure her, as he reached for the chips bag on the counter. "Look, I may have just met you and Bill, but it's pretty clear to me that you belong together."

"Thanks." Kathy exhaled, looking suddenly harried. "I--just thought it was clear to Tony too. It's been a couple of years. I was sure he'd gotten used to Bill and me by now."

"Maybe he's having a hard time letting go, now that you're actually tying the knot? I mean, Susan told me that you two go way back."

Kathy sighed. "I guess you could call us childhood sweethearts. No one was surprised when we started dating in high school. It's just that, as time went on, he felt _more_ like my brother, not less. And it's not as if he's been a monk since we broke up, either," she added, a little tartly. "Half the girls in our senior class were falling at his feet. Any of them would've been happy to take up where I left off--and several did!"

Bogg blinked. "All at the same time?" 

Kathy stifled a laugh. "Oh, he wasn't that bad! Though he did play the field for a long time, and he hasn't been seeing anyone special lately. I really hope he meets the right woman soon -- for lots of reasons." She shook her head with her usual air of trying to dispel unpleasant thoughts and picked up the platter of antipasto. "Phineas, would you mind bringing out the chips and dip? It would save me a second trip to the kitchen."

"No problem." Picking up the now-refilled bowls, Bogg followed her back out to the living room.

The music had changed again since they left the room: a man and woman were now belting out how there was no mountain high enough, no valley low enough, or river wide enough "to keep me from gettin' to you, babe." Several couples were still dancing, and when Bill spotted a returning Kathy, he smiled and held out his hand. Placing the appetizer tray back on the table, she went unhesitating into his arms and they joined the dancers.

Bogg, setting down the chip and dip bowls in their designated places, observed that Susan had drifted up to Tony and was smiling up at him in a way that would distract any red-blooded male. Tony preened visibly over her attention, while Susan presented the appearance of hanging on his every word 

Bogg relaxed. Having a partner to run interference took a lot of pressure off him. Which was just as well since he'd completely forgotten the soda that had been his pretext for going in the kitchen.

**--xxx--**

Susan managed to engage Tony in conversation for a good fifteen minutes before the redhead who'd danced with him before descended on him afresh. Thereafter, she and Bogg took turns keeping an eye on Kathy's ex, even as they mingled with the other guests. Although Bogg made no attempt to approach Tony, he couldn't help noticing that the guy had a bottle of beer in his hand every time he saw him. More disturbingly, Bogg couldn't be sure it was the _same_ bottle.

By contrast, Kathy seemed determined to put that troublesome conversation in the kitchen behind her, concentrating instead on being an attentive hostess as well as a devoted fiancée. She made no reference to it when she and Bogg ended up dancing together--to some light, catchy tune that assured him "you can't hurry love"--but instead asked him if he were enjoying the party. She smiled when he replied in the affirmative, then danced off with Bill when he reclaimed her at the end of the song.

It was maybe half an hour later when he saw Tony approach Kathy, who was talking to several of her girlfriends in a corner. Bill had left the room again, this time in company with a friend. Frowning, Bogg watched the two dark heads lean close together, strained to hear over the several murmured conversations already going on in the room. Providentially, there came a brief lull and Tony's last words reached his ears.

"--for old times' sake?"

He saw Kathy hesitate for a moment before nodding and taking Tony's hand. With a satisfied smile, he led her onto the dance floor; on the record player, a male singer began to warble about how he had sunshine on a cloudy day.

Even Bogg had to admit that the former couple danced well together, despite Tony's much greater height. They had probably danced like this lots of times when they were dating, maybe even before then, since their families were close. Kathy's steps were light, her posture as relaxed as if she really were dancing with her brother.

_"Well, I guess you'll say_

_What can make me feel this way?_

_My girl. (My girl, my girl)_

_Talkin' 'bout my girl. (My girl) . . . "_

The change, when it came, was so subtle that Bogg wondered if he were imagining things. But when he looked more closely, he again noticed that Tony had pulled his former girlfriend a little closer and was dancing with his cheek pressed against her hair. At first, Bogg could not gauge Kathy's reaction from across the room, but when the couple turned, he saw her eyes, as expressive as her son's, peering over Tony's shoulder with a mixture of doubt and unease. The latter became still more evident as Tony's hand molded itself against the small of her back. Bogg thought he could see Kathy's spine stiffen in response, her whole posture becoming rigid

The Voyager tensed. If Tony's hand moved a fraction further south, he was going to cut in and that was that. Kathy herself forestalled that move, however, by breaking free from Tony's clinging embrace and stepping away from him.

"That's enough." Her voice was low but clear.

Tony stared at her, his expression befuddled, whether from beer or lust Bogg couldn't tell. "Katerina . . ."

"My name is Kathy."

They were attracting an audience. Several people had broken off their conversations and were frankly staring. Susan, emerging from the kitchen with another drink in her hand, stopped in her tracks, looking towards Bogg who gave her an infinitesimal shake of the head. In a situation this potentially volatile, it was best not to make any sudden moves

The guests clustered around the living-room doorway abruptly parted like the Red Sea and Bill was there. Kathy's own gaze went to him in swift gratitude. A single look passed between them -- Bogg would not have been surprised if Jeffrey's father had summed up the entire situation with that look -- and then Bill crossed the threshold and made his way into the room, not pausing until he was directly in front of Tony. And for the first time since Bogg had met him, Bill appeared less than friendly as he stared up at his fiancée's ex-boyfriend, while Tony himself looked simultaneously hostile and guilty. 

For a moment everything seemed to tremble in the balance as the two men stood almost toe-to-toe. Then Bill held out his hand.

"Tony." His voice was perfectly calm, if lacking in warmth. "Thanks for coming tonight. It meant a lot to Kathy and me."

Amazingly, Tony's gaze dropped. After a lengthy pause, he accepted the other man's outstretched hand. "Thanks for asking me." His voice was scarcely above a mumble.

"We know you've got an early morning," Bill continued, "so we'll see you tomorrow evening--at the rehearsal."

Once more their eyes locked, but again Tony looked away first. "Yeah, I gotta run," he said, his tone deliberately casual. "My slave-driver boss always expects me to be the first one there. Goodnight, Bill." He glanced again at his ex. "Goodnight, Kathy."

"Goodnight." Her voice was as level and uninflected as Bill's.

Taking advantage of the dignified escape offered to him, Tony departed without further ado. The uncomfortable silence following his exit was broken by the sound of a dulcet female voice crooning from the record player.

_"Bill . . . _

_I love you so, I always will. I look at you and see the passion eyes of May. _

_Oh, but am I ever gonna see my wedding day?"_

A ripple of nervous laughter shivered through the room at the all too apposite lyrics. Suddenly, Kathy turned in Bill's arms and began to sing along with the record, her voice blending effortlessly with the singer's.

_"Oh, I was on your side, Bill, when you were losing. _

_I'd never scheme or lie, Bill, there's been no fooling. _

_But kisses and love won't carry me till you marry me, Bill."_

With the instinct of a true performer, she began to dance her fiancé about the room as she serenaded him. An instant later, several other women--including Susan, Bogg observed with surprise--had joined in the song, doing their part to help smooth over the lingering awkwardness of Tony's leave-taking.

_"I love you so, I always will, and in your voice I hear a choir of carousels. _

_Oh, but am I ever gonna hear my wedding bells? (Wedding bells) . . . " _

Kathy's voice soared over the rest, affirming her commitment to her husband-to-be:

"_I was the one who came running when you were lonely. _

_I haven't lived one day not loving you only._

_But kisses and love won't carry me till you marry me, Bill._

_I love you so, I always will . . . "_

Crisis averted--and it was safe to exhale. Relieved, Bogg went across the room to Susan and led her out onto the floor as well for what remained of the song.

**--xxx--**

"Getting sleepy?" Susan asked sympathetically as Bogg struggled to contain a yawn.

"A little," he admitted, leaning back against the wall. "It's been a long day -- and night." Glancing around the living room, he judged the housewarming party a success, if only because most of the guests seemed reluctant to leave.

"True, but it's nearly over, and Bill and Kathy are one step closer to the altar."

"No thanks to Tony Sorvino."

"At least he left without starting something."

"Yeah, for a few seconds I thought there was gonna be a real ugly fight. Wondered if that was what we were here to prevent, in fact--but Bill handled it without bloodshed." Bogg eyed Jeffrey's father, still dancing with Kathy, with renewed respect. "Don't know if I could have kept a cool head in the same situation."

"He did a great job of taking the wind out of Tony's sails," she agreed. "And without even raising his voice."

"I just hope Tony-Boy stays deflated and doesn't try to pull anything before the wedding."

Susan leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. "What does the Omni say?"

Bogg grimaced. "Ducked into the bathroom ten minutes ago to check--it's still red."

Susan sighed. "I'm starting to remember why I decided against fieldwork in the first place. I don't think I could handle this kind of suspense on a regular basis!"

"You're doing fine," Bogg assured her. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were an old hand at all this."

Her eyes widened and she smiled at him. "Why, Phineas Bogg, that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

"Oh, c'mon, I must've paid you other compliments over the years!" he protested.

Her smile broadened. "Oh, yes, but this one was _original_!"

Bogg felt himself grinning sheepishly and decided to quit while he was ahead.

The record on the phonograph changed again, to a soulful ballad sung by a man with a dark, velvety baritone. Across the room, Bill drew Kathy closer as they slow-danced.

_"When the night has come_

_And the land is dark_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see_

_No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me_

_So darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh now now stand by me_

_Stand by me, stand by me_

_If the sky that we look upon_

_Should tumble and fall_

_And the mountains should crumble to the sea_

_I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear--"_

The phonograph stopped abruptly just as the lights overhead flickered and dimmed. Bogg straightened up, instantly alert, and felt Susan tense beside him.

Bill looked up in confusion, Kathy still clasped in his arms. "What the -- "

An instant later, the room was plunged into darkness.

TO BE CONTINUED

The following '60s songs are referenced or quoted in this installment.

"Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison (1967)

"I'm a Believer" by Neil Diamond (1966)

"Scarborough Fair (Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme)" by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel (1966)

"Ain't No Mountain High Enough" (1967) by Nickolas Ashford and Valerie Simpson

"You Can't Hurry Love" by Lamont Dozier, Brian Holland, and Edward Holland, Jr. (1966)

"My Girl" by Smokey Robinson and Ronald White (1964)

"Wedding Bell Blues" by Laura Nyro (1966)

"Stand by Me" by Ben E. King, Jerry Leiber, and Mike Stoller (1961)


	9. Chapter 9

In which a blackout has potentially tragic consequences, Bogg fights to save a life and later makes an alarming discovery. Contains some strong language and perhaps a few disturbing images. Once again, any inaccuracies are my own, though I hope my research was sound enough to minimize them.

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 9

All around him, Bogg heard murmurs of dismay, sensed movement even through the pitch-blackness that had descended on the Carson house. His own spine prickled with apprehension, even as he told himself he was being ridiculous: a grown man--a former pirate, no less--afraid of the dark!

"Phineas?" He felt Susan's hand touch his arm and fumbled to give her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Then Bill's voice, sounding more resigned than alarmed, broke the uneasy silence. "Looks like we're having a blackout, folks." 

Several people groaned at the announcement, but there was an almost palpable easing of tension in the room. Apparently, Bogg concluded, blackouts were not an unknown phenomenon.

"The joys of summer in New York," someone else remarked, in a similarly exasperated tone.

"Well, we've got candles and matches in the kitchen," Kathy chimed in, her own voice brisk and businesslike. "And a flashlight in the hall closet."

"I've got an extra flashlight in my glove compartment," Bill's college roommate, Gary, spoke up from the other side of the room.

"So do I," another disembodied voice contributed.

"Great," Bill acknowledged. "Let there be light."

And within a fairly short time, there was light, of a sort. While Gary and the other guest left the house to retrieve their flashlights, Kathy and Susan made their way to the kitchen and emerged with several candles and a box of matches. Bill fetched his own flashlight from the closet and several people produced cigarette lighters to help ignite the candlewicks.

"Hey, man, the house next door still has lights on," Gary reported, as he reentered their midst, preceded by his flashlight beam. 

Bill, lighting one of the candles, glanced up at the news. "It does?"

"Yeah, and so does the one about two doors down. We might be the only one suffering an outage."

"Damn," Bill muttered under his breath. He raised his voice to address the room again. "Okay, everyone -- looks like this might not be a blackout, after all. Sorry for the inconvenience. I guess this house still has some quirks I don't know about yet."

"Maybe a fuse blew," Gary suggested.

"That could be it," Bill replied. "I may just have to reset the circuit-breaker downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Bogg queried, experiencing an odd sinking feeling in his gut at the other man's words.

"Yeah, the control panel's in the basement."

**--xxx--**

Bogg liked the basement even less by night than by day. Nonetheless, he had instantly volunteered to accompany Bill, especially since he'd been down there with him earlier in the day. Gary brought up the rear. At least all of them had flashlights and made it down the stairs without mishap.

No moving shapes lurked in the shadows this time, but Bogg still couldn't shake his uneasiness. The basement felt as claustrophobic to him as the belowdecks of some ships he'd sailed on, during his seafaring days. And it was no use telling himself not to be ridiculous, that the basement was far more spacious than the cargo hold of a wooden-walled ship -- the sense of oppressiveness was exactly the same.

Gary's voice recalled Bogg to the present. 

"--faulty wiring?" the artist was asking.

Bill's shrug was just visible in the darkness. "Could be, I suppose. But if that were the case, I'd have thought Professor Carson would've told me before I moved in. Well, maybe he was so busy preparing for his trip that he forgot to mention it." 

"If the wiring _is_ faulty," Bogg began, "what's the safest thing to do?"

"Call an electrician," Bill replied, so wryly that neither of his companions needed to see his face. "But that'll have to wait until morning. For now, I can try turning off the circuit-breaker and then switching it on to a lower setting." He shone his flashlight beam towards the furthest wall. "Control panel's over there. Come on."

They made their way carefully over to the designated spot. Bill handed Gary his flashlight just before he opened the panel's hatch. "Here--can you hold this steady, so I can see what I'm doing?"

"Got it, man."

"And Phineas, you stand over here, on my other side."

"Sure thing." Bogg took up the position indicated.

Bill turned back to the panel. "So I'll just turn this off, and--"

It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment Bill was reaching for the switch, in the next, there was a flash of white light, a fizzing noise, and Jeffrey's father reeled backwards, crumpling to the floor without a sound.

"Jesus Christ!" Bogg didn't know whether he or Gary had spoken, but they both dropped to their knees beside the fallen man, rolling him over onto his back.

"Check if he's breathing," Bogg rapped out, feeling frantically for a pulse. For a few horrible seconds he feared he was too late, but then he detected one, weak and thready, just behind Bill's jaw.

Relief was short-lived, though as Gary's voice rose panic-stricken through the darkness. "He's not breathing--"

For a moment, Bogg experienced a similar panic. Then sanity returned, bringing with it a blessedly vivid memory: _Jeffrey's eyes meeting his, over an unconscious Clara Barton. "I know what I'm doing . . . "_

"Stand back," Bogg ordered, taking up a position behind Bill's shoulders, "and hold the flashlight steady. I gotta see what I'm doing." Feverishly, he leaned over and took hold of Bill's jaw, prying his mouth open.

Nothing blocking the airway, no other visible obstruction. Tilting Bill's head back, Bogg angled his jaw forward, pinched his nose shut, and set his own mouth over the other man's before blowing deeply into his lungs. One thousand -- two thousand -- again . . . 

_Damn it, Bill--breathe! _he exhorted silently, willing the unconscious man to hear him. _If you die, Kathy will never forgive you and your son will never forgive _me!

Time ceased to have any meaning as he worked. He was only dimly aware of another figure appearing at the top of the stairs, of Gary's shouted injunction to call an ambulance. Nothing mattered but the rhythm of his breathing.

In, out, pause, repeat. Breathing for Bill, for Kathy, for Jeff. For himself too, lest he become light-headed and pass out before the job was done. Then, when he had almost given up hope, he heard it--the hiss of air escaping--and felt a faint breath against his cheek, followed by another. Heart in his mouth, he glanced at Gary, saw the relief plain on his face even in the wavering circle of light.

"His chest is moving!" Bill's roommate reported, voice cracking with emotion. "Hey, Bill--welcome back, man!"

On the floor, Jeffrey's father groaned and stirred feebly, trying to lift his head.

"Easy, Bill . . ." Bogg laid one hand over the other man's forehead. "Don't try to move yet. You've had a bad shock. It's Phineas -- squeeze my hand if you can understand me."

There was a pause that seemed to last forever, then the Voyager felt the faint pressure of Bill's fingers closing over his. 

Relief flooded through Bogg, leaving him feeling weak and shaky. Sinking back on his haunches, he laid reassuring hands on Bill's shoulders. "You're gonna be all right now," he told Jeffrey's father. "You're gonna be all right."

**--xxx--**

"Mr. Jones should make a full recovery," Dr. Foster reported to the waiting room crowded with Bill's anxious friends, all of whom practically sagged with relief at the good news. "Fortunately, he was not in contact with the electrical current beyond a second or two, and thanks to the quick thinking of these two gentlemen," he nodded towards Bogg and Gary, "his respiration was almost instantly restarted."

It had felt much longer than "instantly" to Bogg, but he knew just how subjective the passage of time could be in these circumstances, so he wasn't about to quibble. Susan, her eyes suspiciously moist, came to wrap her arms around his waist and he hugged her back, burying his face in her hair.

"Nonetheless," the doctor continued, "we wish to keep the patient here overnight, for observation."

Kathy, her face pale and strained from waiting, jumped up from the sofa. "May I see him? I'm his fiancée."

Dr. Foster hesitated, but only for a moment. "Very well. But just for a few minutes--and only one visitor at a time. Come with me."

As he led her away, the couple's friends broke into groups and began to talk quietly among themselves. Susan, her arms still circling Bogg's waist, looked up as a thought struck her. "The Omni?" she asked, _sotto voce_.

Bogg blinked at the reminder, then quickly turned aside to unhook the device from his belt. Flipping the lid open, he caught his breath: a green light, steady and serene, shone up at him. For the second time that night, he felt dizzy and light-headed with relief.

"Well?" Susan prompted.

Wordlessly, he showed her the result, saw her own eyes light up. It seemed the most natural thing in the world then, to pull her closer to him, and press his lips to hers. Far from objecting, Susan twined her arms about his neck and returned the salute with enthusiasm. Relief rather than passion was the driving force behind the kiss, Bogg knew, but all the same it was very sweet and by no means devoid of sparks. They surfaced at last, smiling foolishly at each other.

But even in the midst of his euphoria, Bogg felt something niggling at the back of his mind. Bill and Kathy were safe, his mission here had been completed successfully . . . but there were still so many unanswered questions.

**--xxx--**

"What a night," Susan sighed as they staggered into their apartment at long last and shut the door behind them. "I feel like I could outsleep Rip Van Winkle."

"Who?" Bogg asked woozily, struggling to keep his own eyes from closing.

"Never mind." Susan stifled a yawn behind one hand as she ventured further into the living room. Halfway across the threshold, she paused abruptly. "Phineas -- I think someone's calling you."

Bogg's eyes snapped fully open when he saw the now-familiar rectangle of light in the middle of the room. "Bat's breath! What time is it back at HQ?"

"I'm not sure, but probably way past a certain young man's bedtime."

They traded rueful smiles. "Well, I can't say I blame him," Bogg remarked. "I'd been out of touch all day. And I've got a heck of a lot to tell him now." Striding over to the sofa, he picked up his HGT from the end table. 

"Need me to help break the news?"

He shook his head. "No thanks, I can handle things from here. You go along to bed."

He activated the transmitter after he heard the bedroom door close. Jeffrey appeared almost immediately in the holographic corridor. Bogg was not in the least surprised to see that the boy was dressed for bed, nor that he was wide-awake.

"Still keeping night-owl hours, kid?" he inquired, without preamble. "At this rate, you're gonna end up with big black rings under your eyes, like a panda."

Jeffrey shrugged. "Hey, it's not like I've got anything better to do right now."

"You could try sleeping. You know, closing your eyes and actually getting some rest?"

"Maybe I can sleep when I'm dead," the kid offered flippantly.

"Jeffrey, that's not funny!" 

The boy's eyes widened at his sharp tone. 

"Sorry, kid." Bogg rubbed the back of his neck, easing the tension. "I didn't mean to bite your head off. It's just -- been a long night."

"Something's happened, hasn't it?" Jeffrey leaned forward, his eyes intent on Bogg's face. 

"Yeah, but I don't want you to worry," Bogg said hastily. "Everything's okay now--and the Omni's turned green too." Unclipping the device, he flipped back the lid and held it up so the boy could see for himself.

Jeffrey exhaled, the relief plain on his face. "So--what was it?"

"Well, there was a power outage at your parents' new house," Bogg began and continued from there. Jeffrey paled when he heard about his father's near-electrocution but by the time Bogg finished his account, the color was back in his face and his eyes were alight with gratitude.

"You did it, Bogg! You saved my dad."

"_You _saved him," Bogg corrected. "If you hadn't taught me how to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation . . . " He shook his head and repressed a shiver. "It was close, kid -- way too close for comfort."

The boy's brows drew together contemplatively. "Think it was an accident?"

"What do _you_ think?" Bogg countered, not wanting to commit himself as yet.

"I dunno. I guess it's possible. I grew up in New York, Bogg--blackouts happen, especially in the summer. And if this was a house my folks were just moving into, maybe there _was _something wrong with the wiring. But when I think of what you told me about Mom getting pushed in the street --"

"I know--I can't help wondering myself. Bill said he was going to call an electrician in the morning. I offered to be there at the house, since they might not discharge your dad until noon."

"And my dad's really gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine," Bogg assured the boy. Before leaving the hospital with Susan, he'd stopped briefly by Bill's cubicle. Jeffrey's father had looked pale and exhausted, but he'd managed to smile and thank Bogg for the quick thinking that had saved his life. As had Kathy, who had hugged the breath out of both Bogg and Susan when she next saw them. "He's looking forward to getting out of the hospital and marrying your mom this weekend."

"You gonna stick around for that?" Jeffrey asked, somewhat wistfully. "I know the Omni's green and all, but . . . "

"Well . . . " Bogg considered the matter. "I've already committed myself to being here tomorrow, so what's one or two more days? Might as well make sure the wedding goes off without a hitch."

The boy broke into a radiant smile. "Thanks, Bogg!"

"Sure thing, Jeff. " It was little enough, Bogg thought, to give his partner some peace of mind. Then it occurred to him that there was something else he had intended to ask. "Say, kid--what do you know about a guy named Tony Sorvino?"

"Uncle Tony? What about him?"

_"Uncle_ Tony?" Bogg blinked at the boy.

"Well, okay, he wasn't really my uncle, but he was one of my mom's oldest friends and he got married the year after my folks did. To Sophia, another friend of Mom's. They had twins, Tony Junior and Bella--we all used to play together until the Sorvinos moved to California."

"Did you know that your Uncle Tony used to date your mom?"

It was Jeffrey's turn to blink. "He did?"

"Yup. According to Kathy, they were an item in high school, before she met your dad."

"First I've ever heard of it. But I guess it's not the kind of thing grown-ups talk about in front of kids."

"No. And I wouldn't have brought him up if I hadn't seen him trying to put the moves on your mom tonight, while they were dancing."

"No way!"

"Way," Bogg confirmed. "For a minute, I thought things were gonna get ugly but your dad kept his cool." Briefly, he described how Bill had defused the situation, saw Jeffrey's smile turn proud and fond.

"That's Dad. He used to tell me never to start a fight, but always to finish one. And that fists should be the last resort, not the first."

"Smart man, your dad. Unfortunately, there are other ways of fighting dirty besides using fists. Does your Uncle Tony know anything about electricity?"

Jeffrey's eyes widened again; he had always been quick. "You think he might have had something to do with Dad's accident?"

"I don't know, Jeff. But when the lights went out, I couldn't help wondering, especially considering the way your Uncle Tony left the party. "

"But he _did_ leave--you saw that yourself."

"He could have snuck back in, though, couldn't he? At least long enough to rig the lights to give your dad a nasty shock." 

The boy shook his head. "I don't know, Bogg, I still have a hard time imagining him wanting to hurt my parents."

"Jealousy can make people do bad things, kid. Things they regret later."

Jeffrey bit his lip, his eyes troubled. "Well . . . maybe he might want to get my dad out of the way. But why would he push Mom in front of a car if he wanted to get back together with her?"

"Good point. Still, we can't rule out that your mom's accident might have been genuine." Bogg raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "Look, Jeffrey--I don't want to worry you over nothing. There's no evidence to show one way or the other whether your folks were the victims of foul play -- or just unlucky. As it is, I won't know anything more until tomorrow, after the electrician comes."

"Right." Jeffrey sighed in turn. "Well -- thanks for taking care of my folks. It really helps to know you're watching over them."

"All in a day's work, kid. Speaking of 'watching over,' how're you and Olivia making out at HQ?"

"Fine," the boy assured him. "She's been great, Bogg--real supportive. She even took me on a tour of the campus today, to keep me from going stir-crazy in Mission Control. We had lunch down by the lake and fed the ducks too."

"Oh, yeah, I remember the lake. One of those ducks bit me once."

Jeffrey shook his head. "You sure have lousy luck with the animal kingdom, Bogg."

The older Voyager grinned. "Not with the female of the species, kid!" He chuckled when the boy rolled his eyes. "Hey, tell you what--when all this is over, I'll give you another tour, show you some of my old stomping grounds. I found some great places that no one else knew about--and I'd like to share them with you."

"With me?"

"Who else? Can't think of anyone I'd rather share 'em with."

"I'd like that." Jeffrey was relaxing now, his posture becoming less tense, his dark eyes growing heavy-lidded. "Something to look forward to."

"Exactly." Bogg's tone gentled. "Get some sleep, Jeff. You look about done-in."

"I _am_ feeling kinda tired," the boy admitted. "You rest too, okay?"

"Okay. Sweet dreams, kid."

"Sweet dreams," his partner echoed, just before the hologram winked out.

**--xxx--**

In retrospect, Bogg wouldn't have described his dreams that night as "sweet"; "bizarre" might have been a more fitting term. He didn't remember them in their entirety, but there had been lights that flickered haphazardly on and off, and at one point a giant duck had been chasing him around the lake at the Academy. He was almost relieved to wake up and find himself alone on the lumpy sofa bed.

After a hasty breakfast assembled from the staples Susan had stocked in their refrigerator, the two Voyagers went their separate ways. Susan headed back to the hospital, to offer Kathy what assistance she could on the day before the wedding. Meanwhile, Bogg returned to the house in Queens, letting himself in with the key Bill had lent him. 

He had arrived almost an hour before the electrician was due. With a growing sense of the inevitable, he armed himself with a flashlight and braved the basement once more.

The room seemed as dark, dank, and unwelcoming as ever. And it was doubly hard to remain, knowing that Jeffrey's father had almost died there the night before. Gritting his teeth, Bogg made his way over to the control panel nonetheless. The hatch door was still open, exposing the various switches and circuits, which Bogg avoided touching. Not that there was any danger at this point. After Bill had been revived, Gary had grabbed a wooden broom handle and switched the circuit-breaker to "off." The house was now effectively without power, but better that than a fire caused by faulty wiring.

Uneasily, Bogg swept his flashlight beam around the room, seeking . . . he hardly knew what. The beam traveled over discarded furniture and dusty boxes, over a spiderweb in a corner, an unidentified dark spot on the floor by the far wall. . . 

Frowning, Bogg played the beam over the last item once again. Something long, black, and unmoving. He grimaced, hoping that the object was not and never had been alive. He couldn't imagine Bill or Kathy being pleased by the prospect of critters--whether mice, rats, or lizards--in their basement. Suppressing his squeamishness, he walked up to the object in question, hunkered down on his haunches to inspect it more closely.

He felt an initial surge of relief on discovering that it was not, in fact, an animal. And yet -- there was something oddly familiar about it. Using his handkerchief, Bogg lifted the object gingerly from the floor, brought it into his direct line of vision . . . and felt his blood turn to ice, his hand start to shake, as his worst fears were realized.

Any last hope that Bill's brush with death had been an accident was extinguished -- as surely as the cigar Bogg now held. A slim black cigar, of the type favored by dandies and fops. A cigar whose end had been carefully trimmed -- with the surgical precision of a scalpel.

TO BE CONTINUED


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Took a while to finish this one, but it's pretty pivotal so I had to get it just right. In this installment, Bogg shares his discovery with one partner but keeps it a secret from another. And as one assignment nears its end, another is set to begin.. Contains spoilers from the episodes "The Trial of Phineas Bogg" and "Jack's Back."

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 10

It was about two hours later when Bogg heard the front door open and a light step over the threshold.

"Phineas?" Susan's voice called. "Are you still here?"

"In the living room," he called back.

She entered, smiling. "Oh, good. I'd hoped you hadn't gone yet. Did the electrician come?"

"He's been and gone. The power's on again." There was more to tell, but he held off for the moment, wanting a respite from the dark thoughts that had been keeping him company since his discovery in the basement. "You look happy. That mean everything's okay with the kid's folks?"

Susan nodded. "Bill's been released from the hospital. He and Kathy went back to Mrs. Rossini's to get ready for the rehearsal. His parents are expected to arrive in New York this afternoon too."

"So everything's back on track for the wedding, huh?"

"Oh, yes. And," Susan reached into the purse she was carrying and drew out what looked like an invitation, though the names on it were handwritten instead of engraved, "Kathy's insisted that we come to the wedding and the reception tomorrow. She said that, without you and what you did for Bill, there might not even be a wedding, so she won't hear of us refusing." 

Bogg managed to dredge up a smile. "I knew Jeff got his stubbornness from somewhere. No objections to us attending?"

"None at all," Susan assured him. "It's nice to have the opportunity to witness a happy ending. And speaking of which," she added, "guess who stopped by the hospital as Bill was leaving?"

"Who?"

"Tony Sorvino. He said he'd just heard about what happened and he wanted--in his own words--'to apologize for being such an arrogant jerk last night.' And he actually sounded sincere, Phineas. I think we _might_ be able to rule him out as having anything to do with Bill's accident "

"I agree."

Susan blinked, taken aback by his quick response. "You do?"

Bogg nodded, bracing himself for what he was about to reveal. "Sorvino had nothing to do with Bill almost getting electrocuted. But I know who did."

Susan's brows drew together. "Who?"

For answer, Bogg reached into his shirt pocket and brought out the evidence, still wrapped in his handkerchief, and laid it on the coffee table before them.

Susan's frown deepened as Bogg unfolded the handkerchief to show what lay within. "That -- looks like a cigar."

"It is." Bogg took a deep breath. "Remember when I told you that Jeff and I ended up in Victorian London a while back?"

She nodded.

"We were there for two reasons--to make sure Nellie Bly resumed her around-the-world trip on time and to help Arthur Conan Doyle overcome a case of writer's block," Bogg continued. "Not surprisingly, our assignments overlapped. Nellie was hell-bent on trying to catch Jack the Ripper while she was in London. She didn't find him--but she found someone else who tried to kill her. And Doyle picked up a big piece of evidence at the scene: a cigar just like this one, right down to the way it was trimmed at the end."

"Victorian London . . . " Susan's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Wait, you said before that where's you and Jeffrey met -- oh, no!"

"It all fits, doesn't it?" Bogg remarked, not doubting at all that she had arrived at the same conclusion he had. He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "How's that for irony? I asked the kid to try to think of enemies his folks might've had. I should have remembered the enemy _we_ have!"

Susan bit her lip. "Phineas, I know that cigar seems to prove that Drake was here--"

"_Seems_ to?" Bogg stared at her incredulously.

"But we can't prove that he's actually done anything, can we?" she continued. "I'd love nothing better than to nail his hide to the wall, but it's not like we've caught him red-handed."

"The fuse box was tampered with!" Bogg snapped. "When the electrician came, he said the outage was caused by fuses that were the wrong size, twice the voltage they should have been. The circuit overloaded -- he said that we're lucky the whole house didn't catch on fire. He also said that, by the looks of it, the fuses had been replaced recently, like within the last few days."

"My God." Susan had gone almost as white as her blouse.

"Now, I don't know much about electricity," Bogg resumed. "But I'm betting that Bill does, and the guy he's renting from. I can't see either of them making this mistake. So maybe it wasn't a mistake, maybe somebody deliberately put in the wrong-sized fuses." He glanced down again at the cigar on the table. "And maybe we've just found our prime suspect."

"Maybe," Susan conceded, giving the cigar another look as well. "Only why would Drake leave something so incriminating behind?"

"I don't think he intended to. More likely, he got startled, dropped it, and had to Omni out fast. The basement's kinda damp, so the cigar would have burned out quickly." He paused, remembering. "I thought I smelled cigar smoke when Bill and I went down there to look for chairs before the party, but he said that Professor Carson smoked, so I thought that was the reason. And don't forget Kathy--she said she felt like she'd been pushed while she was crossing the street. Drake could've done it--"

"And Omnied out before you could see him," Susan finished, with a sigh. "This is all starting to sound horribly plausible. If he's doing awful things during these short time-hops, it's no wonder we're having such a hard time tracking him." She rubbed her forehead as if it ached. "But why would he be targeting Jeffrey and his family like this?"

Bogg's voice hardened. "Drake's never been one to pick on people his own size. And striking at me through the kid has got to be a pretty good bonus, as far as he's concerned."

"Phineas, I'm not going to deny that Drake hates you or that he'd go out of his way to stick a knife in your back any way he can. But there has to be more to this -- attack against Jeffrey than that. I despise the man as much as you do, but I've got to admit, he thinks big."

"So do I," Bogg defended himself. "Remember all those things Jeff's supposed to do when he grows up -- and how Drake tried to make sure he'd never do them? When I was on trial, he misled the tribunal about the kid staying a civilian, demanded that Jeff be sent back to 1982. We beat him--the three of us--but I'm betting he's decided to try again."

Understanding dawned on Susan's face as Bogg continued, "Ever since Drake went on the lam, he's been trying to wreck history. I thought messing up the past would be enough, even for him. But it looks like he's setting out to ruin the future too. Jeffrey's future -- and I happen to take that _very_ personally."

"Assuming you're right," Susan began, "what should we do next? Do you think he's likely to make another move against Bill and Kathy?"

"No," Bogg replied, after some consideration. "At least not in 1968. I think, if he was still in this time zone, the Omni would still be red. Now I could be wrong and he might pop in again just before the wedding, but I'd say the odds were against it. He's tried twice here, and failed. My guess is he'll Omni forward a few years before pulling his next stunt--and now that I know who I'm dealing with, I intend to be ready for him."

"Poor Jeffrey. Any idea what he'll do, once he knows?

"Jeff's not gonna know, 'cause I'm not gonna tell him."

Susan stared at him. "What? Phineas--"

"The kid's worried enough already, I'm not gonna add to that. I'm the adult, for God's sake--I'm supposed to take care of him, not scare him to death!"

"But what if he can help?" Susan countered. "You know how smart he is--"

"Drake is _my_ problem to solve, not Jeff's," Bogg insisted. "He's not even fourteen yet--what can he do against a grown man who's just tried to murder his parents and keep him from being born? I know what I'm doing, Susan," he added as she started to protest further. "Believe me, it's safer all around if Jeff doesn't find out--from me or anyone else. At least, not until all this is over."

Susan shook her head ruefully. "Phineas Bogg, you're as stubborn as a herd of army mules."

"When it comes to protecting the kid, damn straight I am," Bogg retorted. "Promise _you_ won't tell Jeffrey about Drake either?"

Susan sighed again. "Very well. I can't say that I agree with you on this, but Jeffrey's _your_ partner, so I have to respect that. But he'll want to know what's been happening here. What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know." Bogg pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "But I'll think of something."

**--xxx--**

"Hey, kid." Bogg greeted the boy as casually as if talking by HGT were commonplace for them both. "Hoped you'd be around when I checked in."

"Well, Olivia's off teaching her class and I just couldn't take the infirmary anymore," Jeffrey admitted. "At least things are happening in Mission Control, even if no one's got time to tell me what they are." He fiddled with his headset, making the hologram wobble slightly. "So -- is everything okay where you are?"

"Fine," Bogg said, hoping he sounded convincingly hearty. "The electrician said the fuses need to be replaced, so he fixed everything up and now the power's back on." It wasn't really a lie, he told himself. What he'd said was true enough, even if it omitted certain -- more sinister details. 

"That's all it was, bad fuses?"

"Looks like." Bogg tried to keep his expression tranquil and his tone level. "Hey, don't tell me you're disappointed, Jeff!"

"I'm not!" the boy said hastily. "It's just that when we talked about this last night -- "

"Well, last night was pretty upsetting," Bogg pointed out. "When something like your dad's accident happens, it's easy to start imagining the worst. But I said I didn't have any proof, either way." Except that now he _did_ have proof--and he had actively decided not to share it with his partner. Susan had taken charge of the cigar, promising to have it tested for fingerprints and other evidence that might link it to Drake, once she returned to HQ.

Jeffrey was frowning a little. "What about Uncle Tony?"

"He's in the clear, kid. According to Susan, he stopped by the hospital today and apologized to your folks for acting like a jerk last night. Apparently he hadn't heard about the accident until this morning. So you've got nothing to worry about on that score." Just something twice as big, mean, and ugly on a completely _different_ score, a little voice in Bogg's mind added.

Bogg throttled the little voice into silence. "So, you see, kid--everything's under control."

The boy relaxed visibly. "Thanks, Bogg! You know, I'm really glad Uncle Tony's innocent. Maybe he was a big jerk when he dated my mom, but I remember him as a pretty good guy."

"Then you can go on remembering him like that. Maybe we all do stupid things when we care too much. I know I have." 

"Me too," Jeffrey admitted, with a rueful grin. "So the wedding's on for tomorrow?"

"Green light all the way, kid," Bogg assured him. "By now, I'd guess your folks are setting out for the rehearsal, and your grandparents were supposed to arrive today too. And Susan and I cleaned up the place in Queens this afternoon, so the place looks fit to live in again. Oh, and your mom invited us both to the wedding too."

"That's great!" Jeffrey exclaimed, then, in the next instant, his expression turned wistful. "Wish I could go too. But I guess that would really screw things up even if I _wasn't_ stuck here at HQ."

"'Fraid so. But I promise to tell you all about it, once I get back."

"Thanks." The boy managed a smile. "It helps a lot to know I can always count on you."

Bogg swallowed, feeling guilt like a knife twisting in his gut. "I'll always look out for you, kid. Take care, okay?"

Jeffrey blinked. "_I'll_ be all right. I'm not the one out there taking all the risks. So it should be the other way around, Bogg: _you_ take care."

"I will," Bogg promised, forcing the words past the lump growing in his throat. "I gotta go now, Jeff. It's been a long day--and we've got an early start in the morning. You should rest too," he added. "Keeping late hours can't be good for a kid."

"It's still afternoon where I am," Jeffrey pointed out. "But I promise I'll turn in early tonight."

"Thanks, kid. Later?"

"Later," the boy agreed, and vanished obligingly.

Deactivating his own HGT, Bogg stared for a long time at the blank space where the holographic corridor had been -- and silently repeated the filthiest curses he had learned during his days as a pirate.

Nearly two years of partnership, of close friendship, of absolute trust built up mission by mission . . . and he'd just betrayed it all. For Jeffrey's own safety, of course -- but it felt like a betrayal just the same.

Bogg had once heard that lies of omission weren't as bad as lies of commission. But from where he was sitting, both felt equally lousy. And he strongly suspected that Jeffrey would agree--at least he would if his partner hadn't deliberately kept him in the dark.

_I'll make him understand_, Bogg vowed. _When all this is over, I'll make him understand -- somehow._

**--xxx--**

The strains of "Funiculi, Funicula" mingled with the hum of conversation and intermittent bursts of laughter. Which was only right, Bogg thought as he selected a crostini from a passing platter of appetizers, when people were celebrating a wedding.

Just that morning Katerina Beatrice Rossini and William Stephen Jones, surrounded by family and friends, had tied the knot in a small, jewel-box of a church in the heart of Little Italy. Sitting with Susan in one of the rear pews, Bogg had surreptitiously consulted the Omni during a crucial moment in the ceremony and breathed a sigh of relief to see a green light still shining steadily up at him.

Not surprisingly, the reception was also a family affair, held at Aldo's. Kathy's grandmother had even baked the three-tiered wedding cake, rich with chopped hazelnuts and delicately frosted. Toasts had been drunk, speeches made, and Kathy had serenaded her husband with renditions of "Un moto di gioia" and "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls." Then the dancing began, was still going on in the part of the dining room that had been cleared for the occasion.

Bogg danced in turn with Susan, some of the lady guests, and the brand-new Mrs. Jones. All brides were considered beautiful on their big day, but Bogg thought that Kathy glowed. He rather suspected that she did in Bill's eyes too. Her wedding gown was simple but lovely--white voile trimmed with real Venetian lace, Susan had whispered in Bogg's ear before the ceremony began--and there were white rosebuds woven into her dark curls.

"Thank you for coming," she said, while they circled the floor together in a slow waltz. "I'm so glad you and Susan could make it, especially on such short notice."

"Thank you for inviting us," Bogg replied.

"Well, there might not have been a wedding without you," Kathy pointed out. "If you hadn't been there that night . . . " she broke off with a little shiver, shook her head in that now-familiar way, and managed to smile up at him. "I hope you two are enjoying yourselves."

"Oh, we're having a great time," Bogg assured her. "Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves too."

"I still can't believe everything went off so smoothly," Kathy confessed. "Up until the last moment, I was half-expecting some kind of wedding disaster to happen, but it didn't." She laughed softly. "I'm hoping that's a good omen for the marriage."

"Well, it's probably a good omen for the honeymoon, at least. You and Bill managing a getaway?"

"We're taking off right after the reception for a weekend on Fire Island. Bill's got someone taking his Monday class since we probably won't get back until late. And then, we'll officially be moving into the Queens house as a married couple."

"You've got some major changes ahead," Bogg agreed. "Living with someone, even someone you're crazy about, is still a big adjustment."

She nodded, smiling ruefully. "Well, Bill and I promised that neither of us would run home to Mother--or Nonna, in my case--the first time we have a fight. We'll stay and tough it out, together."

Bogg smiled in turn. "Sounds like a plan. I'm sure you and Bill will have no trouble sticking to it, even if the plates start flying."

"Will you be stopping by to visit, once we get settled in? You'll always be welcome in our home."

"I don't know," Bogg said, with genuine regret. "My firm's setting up my next assignment, which could take me out of New York for a while. Susan will probably move with me."

"Oh!" Kathy looked disappointed. "I'm sorry to hear that. Not that you're working," she added quickly, "but that you might be leaving. It's funny, isn't it? I met you and Susan just three days ago, but I feel like I've known you both for a lot longer."

"Same here," Bogg admitted, with complete candor. "I guess some people just meet and form an instant connection, for some reason. Chemistry, sympathy . . . I can't think of the right word for it."

"Serendipity, maybe. And sometimes people come into your life, even briefly, and make an enormous impact." Kathy gazed up at Bogg with serious dark eyes. "I hope you won't think I'm being too fanciful, but ever since you kept me from being run over that day, I've felt like you were my guardian angel, at least for a while. Bill's too."

Bogg felt his face heating in an unaccustomed blush and tried to lighten the mood. "An angel, huh? I'd look pretty silly with a halo."

Kathy laughed. "Oh, I think the halo's optional. But I'll always be grateful for what you've done--for both of us." As the strains of the waltz ended, she reached up and kissed Bogg very gently on the lips. "Thank you, Phineas. And God bless you."

That had been almost an hour ago. Since then, Bogg had danced again with Susan, talked to Bill (fully recovered from his accident and clearly elated to be married at last), noted Tony Sorvino dancing with a striking blonde named Sophia, and wandered around the restaurant, unobtrusively patrolling the crowd. But the person he was braced to confront never appeared, the savory aromas in the dining room remained untainted by cigar smoke, and the Omni's light shone green whenever he checked it.

Some fifteen minutes previously, the bride and groom, along with their closest attendants, had vanished into a back room, to get ready for their departure. They emerged now, dressed in traveling clothes, amid laughter and cheers. Bogg and Susan joined the other guests on the sidewalk, waving and calling out good wishes as the Joneses climbed into a waiting taxi that would take them to the train station.

Bogg caught a glimpse of Kathy's face, smiling and flushed with excitement, at the window just before the taxi pulled away from the curb. He liked to think he would always remember her that way, loved and loving, embarking joyously on the adventure known as married life. He hoped he could share that image of her with Jeffrey too, once he and the kid were reunited.

But that moment hadn't yet arrived, and Bogg suspected that more challenges lay ahead before it would. Challenges that he could no longer put off facing.

"I have to go now," he murmured in Susan's ear.

It was a mark of her quick intelligence that she understood his meaning right away. "I know," she murmured back. "Your traveling clothes are in my tote bag." She smiled a little at his startled expression. "I suspected you might want to take off right after the wedding. Go--I'll wrap up all the loose ends here."

"Thanks." More grateful than he could say, he kissed her lightly on the lips before hurrying back into the restaurant. Susan's tote was resting on one of the chairs at their table; Bogg retrieved the plastic bag containing the casual clothes he had worn three days ago and hurried downstairs to the men's room to change. 

Back upstairs again, he replaced the bag, now holding his formal clothes, in Susan's tote and took a fast look around the dining room. Most of the guests were still outside, talking animatedly among themselves about the wedding, but some were drifting back inside and there was no point in taking foolish risks. Sidling behind a convenient potted plant, Bogg took out the Omni and gazed one last time at the glowing green light.

"Goodbye, 1968," he murmured, and felt the world dissolve around him as he hit the switch.

TO BE CONTINUED


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Apologies for the delay in getting this one finished and out. For the last two weeks, I've been up to my neck in real-life stuff. I'm hoping there won't be as much time between this installment and the next. Last time, Bogg kept an important secret from Jeffrey and said farewell to 1968. Now, he embarks on the next part of his assignment, but Jeffrey might be getting suspicious . . . 

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 11

Jeffrey gazed out across the quiet waters, his thoughts a million miles away. Every now and then one of the many ducks inhabiting the lake swam up in hopes of a treat, but the boy made no move to entice them closer. Indeed, he hardly seemed to notice their presence; losing interest, the ducks soon paddled away towards the other end of the lake.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Startled, Jeffrey looked up to see Olivia standing over him. He had not heard her approach; the soft earth around the lake had muffled the sound of her crutch.

"Why?"

"Well, of all the places we went on our tour, you seemed to like it best here." Olivia lowered herself carefully to the ground beside him. "I brought you a jacket."

"I'm okay. And the sun's still out."

"Not for much longer, though," she pointed out. "And it gets chilly by the water at sundown. Phineas would have my hide if you got sick on top of everything else."

Jeffrey stifled a sigh. In his experience, sweaters and jackets were things grown-ups made you put on when _they_ were cold.

"Humor me," Olivia suggested with a wry smile, holding out the jacket.

He considered, briefly, rebelling, but it seemed a waste of effort. Accepting the jacket with dutiful thanks, he shrugged it on. At least it wasn't too heavy--no more than a hooded sweatshirt, really--and Olivia didn't insist that he zip it up.

The older Voyager studied him for several minutes until he was hard-put not to squirm under her scrutiny. "Something on your mind, Jeffrey?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Woman's intuition?" she offered. "Or maybe it's just that Bogg told me to pay close attention when you go--in his words--'all big-eyed and quiet.'"

That sounded like Bogg. Jeffrey smothered another sigh. When you were a kid, grown-ups automatically assumed you needed to be taken care of, even if you did a pretty good job of taking care of yourself. Then he thought about kids who had no one to take care of them, even _when_ they needed it, and his exasperation faded. He really was lucky, to have Bogg and so many other Voyagers willing to look out for him.

"Want to talk about it?"

He did and he didn't, at the same time. But on consideration, he found the first impulse was stronger. "Back in 1968 . . . my folks are getting married today."

"Then I'm not surprised they're on your mind."

"I can't stop thinking about them. Wishing I could be there, somehow. Funny, isn't it? I didn't even exist then, but I can picture how it might have been." Jeffrey sighed. "I guess, even if I could Voyage right now, it wouldn't be a good idea to go."

"A little too close for comfort," Olivia agreed. "It's one thing to encounter a distant ancestor, but the risk of changing something you shouldn't gets higher the closer you get to your own timeline. You've probably figured that out for yourself, already," she added gently.

Jeffrey nodded, unable to conceal his regret. "I just don't want to forget them," he admitted in a small voice. "Sometimes, when I try to concentrate on my folks, everything goes blurry and out of focus. Like I'm looking at old photo albums or watching some grainy old black-and-white movie on TV."

Olivia put an arm around him. "But your heart will always remember, even if your mind sometimes forgets. And you're lucky to have so many good memories of your parents."

"I suppose." Jeffrey only wished those memories weren't becoming hazier with the passing years. Every now and then, between Voyages, he deliberately tried to recall those happy times with his folks--just to keep them alive somehow. Going to ball games with his dad, visiting museums and seeing plays with his mom, picnicking in Central Park, celebrating family Thanksgivings and Christmases, going on camping trips when the warm weather came . . . 

His mind shied away abruptly from the last. For a time, he'd recalled the accident far too well, had relived it in his nightmares, always with the same terrible ending, the one he could not change. He had been grateful when his recollections of that day dimmed, and he did not want them to regain any of the focus they had lost. Some memories were better left alone--picking at them, like scabs, just made everything bleed again.

Bogg always tried to give him a little space during those moments, while staying close enough to offer comfort if it was needed. Jeffrey knew the ex-pirate would probably scoff at being thought "sensitive," but the boy appreciated his consideration all the same.

Thinking of his partner brought another, more recent memory to the surface. "You know," Jeffrey mused aloud, "back when we first met, Bogg told me Voyagers get plucked out of time so they can fix history. I guess there must be a lot of them who had to leave their families behind."

"Maybe not as many as you'd think. Back when I was a trainee, I learned that most people chosen as Voyagers don't have strong family ties. Which makes sense if they vanish from their own time without a trace. So some of them might never have known their folks. And some might have lost them, like you . . ." Olivia gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "And others -- might not have gotten along with their families and just wanted the chance to escape."

"Which were you?"

Olivia raised her eyebrows. "Getting kind of personal there, aren't you, kid?"

Jeffrey flushed, ducking his head. "Sorry! You don't have to answer that. I was just curious."

She looked at him a moment longer, then sighed. "Maybe a little of all three." At his questioning look, she elaborated. "Two members of my family passed away, and the third turned into somebody I no longer recognized." Her mouth crooked wryly. "So I flew the coop and went my own way, until I was chosen as a Voyager."

_Flew the coop._ An interesting choice of words that teased his memory yet again. Frowning, Jeffrey studied Olivia closely, envisioning how she had looked when they first met: a leggy blonde wearing slacks and a leather flight jacket, with a white scarf loose about her throat. 

"You were . . . an aviatrix, weren't you?"

She blinked, clearly taken aback. "What -- makes you think that?"

"The way you were dressed when Bogg and I met you on the Titanic. I mean, yeah, you could've just chosen those clothes because they were comfortable, but I thought there might be more to it than that. Like it was natural for you to dress that way. Just like Bogg always goes back to his pirate clothes whenever we Voyage."

Olivia continued to stare at him bemusedly. "Phineas is right," she said at last. "Sometimes you're so smart, it's scary."

"Did your family not want you to fly?"

"My family didn't want me to do a lot of things," she admitted. "But that's a story for another day." She glanced at the sky. "And we should probably be starting back to Headquarters, before they send out a search party for us."

"Could we head over to Mission Control?" Jeffrey asked. "It's way too quiet in the infirmary. Besides, Bogg told me he'd be leaving after the wedding. Maybe he's already landed in another time zone, and I could help with that."

"Sure thing," Olivia promised, reaching for her crutch. "I'm glad everything worked out in 1968."

"Me too," Jeffrey said fervently. "I was worried for a while, thinking someone was out to get my folks. But Bogg says it was just a couple of freak accidents."

"Well, that's good news, isn't it?"

"Yeah . . . just kinda surprising. He seemed so sure at first that something fishy was going on." Jeffrey shrugged. "I guess it's easy to start imagining the worst in a situation like this." Scrambling to his feet, he offered Olivia a hand up from the ground. "Come on--let's go check things out."

**--xxx--**

Mission Control was the same as it always was: cool, dimly lit, with everything humming, clicking, whirring, or beeping. Jeffrey found it all oddly comforting. The infirmary, of which he was still the sole inhabitant, was quieter but the silence wore on him after a time. And while he wasn't left completely unattended there, the medics who came to check on him were in the habit of speaking to him gravely and quietly, as though he were seriously ill. 

Faced between being treated like an invalid or like a case study, Jeffrey found he had a slight preference for the latter. Bryce and Beckett were kept very busy and seldom had time to talk, but at least when they did speak to him, he didn't feel like they expected him to keel over any second. And they tried to answer his questions as best they could.

Just entering the room, Jeffrey stopped short when he saw a familiar figure deep in conversation with Beckett. "Susan?"

She turned, her expression startled and almost . . . guilty, he thought but could not think why it should be so. "Jeffrey," she greeted him after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, they let me hang out, as long as I don't cause any trouble." Venturing further into the room, he studied her with concern. She was looking prettier than ever, he decided, in a gauzy, pale yellow dress--just right for attending a summer wedding in New York City. "Is everything okay? With my folks, I mean?"

"Everything's fine," she assured him. "They've gone off on their honeymoon as we speak. I just came back to check in with Control about something." She glanced over her shoulder at Beckett as she spoke.

"I'll get right on it," the older technician promised and hurried away. He was carrying something in what looked like a plastic baggie but Jeffrey couldn't make out what it was.

"How's everything going here?" Susan directed her question equally to Jeffrey and Olivia, who had just come in behind the boy.

"Fine," Olivia replied. "Pretty quiet, though. We've been waiting to hear from you."

"How's Bogg?" Jeffrey asked. "Did he come back with you or is he still in 1968?"

"Actually, Phineas has already decided to move on to the next part of his assignment," Susan replied. "In which case, Bryce should have his new coordinates soon." She gestured towards the younger technician who was hovering over the read-out screen of the Central Processor.

Jeffrey exhaled, feeling simultaneously relieved and on edge. He was glad that things had been wrapped up in 1968, but it was anybody's guess where the next trouble spot lay. He only hoped it could be something he could really help with this time.

"Jeffrey." Susan's voice broke into his thoughts; he looked up inquiringly.

"I brought you something," she continued, picking something up from the console beside her. "From your parents' reception: a slice of cake--and some wedding favors."

The boy caught his breath at the sight of the small box, tied with a white-and-silver ribbon, that she was holding out to him. Blinking back a sudden rush of tears, he reached for the box, held it as reverently as if it were the Holy Grail. It was several minutes before he trusted himself to speak. 

"Thanks," he managed at last, in a voice that creaked like a rusty hinge. Behind him, he could feel Olivia's hands resting on his shoulders again.

Susan smiled. "You're very welcome. I thought you might like having a souvenir."

If he hadn't been afraid of bawling like a two-year-old, he'd have assured her that "like" was putting it much too mildly. He mustered a smile for her instead, though he could feel it wobbling around the edges.

"Hey, Jones . . . " 

Jeffrey glanced over at Bryce, who had straightened up from his crouch over the read-out screen. 

"I think I've got your partner's new location," the technician announced, beckoning the boy to approach. "But does this look right to you?"

**--xxx--**

Bogg drifted peacefully through the cosmos. Like snowflakes, no two Voyages were identical, and this one felt . . . almost leisurely. Oh, the lights and stars still whirled around him as he traveled but he felt oddly insulated from it all. As if he were enclosed in a cocoon -- or a womb. The comparison startled him but the more he thought about it, the more appropriate it seemed. He was Voyaging through Jeffrey's life, after all--maybe each intervention there was a bit like a birth.

Birth. He wondered if the boy would actually exist in his new destination this time. If so, he'd have to be especially careful not to change anything that might affect their meeting in 1982. No easy task if Jeffrey were in as much danger as his parents had been, back in 1968. And with Drake on the prowl, it was all too probable that he would be.

He was slowing now, his trajectory arcing downwards towards the portal of light he recalled from his first trip with this Omni. Definitely an improvement--he wondered how long it would take to instill this feature in all the devices.

Once again, Bogg experienced that brief disorientation as he passed through the portal, then he was materializing, dropping to the ground from about a foot in the air. The impact jarred him slightly and he almost bit his tongue--but it was still better than falling out of the sky.

Shaking his head to clear it, he took quick stock of his surroundings: a narrow alley between two ancient-looking buildings. New York City again? Bogg unhooked the Omni from his belt, flipped back the lid, and frowned at the new setting. "London, 1972?"

That couldn't be right . . . or could it? The Omni was in automatic mode, after all--pre-set to send him to the years that were crucial to Jeffrey's existence in standard time. He supposed there could have been some kind of foul-up, but on further consideration, he doubted it.

And -- he had last come face to face with Drake in London too. A prickle of unease ran up Bogg's spine at the memory; he glanced around the alley, but no one else was in sight. Still, it was probably smart not to linger: places like these were ideal for an ambush. Closing and replacing his Omni, he strode around the nearer of the two buildings --

And into what looked like several city blocks' worth of noisy, colorful activity. Momentarily dazzled, Bogg stopped in his tracks to stare at the scene before him.

Beneath the afternoon sun stood row upon row of covered booths, each housing a vendor enthusiastically hawking his or her wares. Bogg could see stalls packed with garden produce, all with customers milling about, exclaiming over what they found or haggling over prices with the vendors.

He knew where he was, suddenly. Not just London, but Covent Garden, the most famous fruit, vegetable, and flower market in the city. The oldest too--it had been founded centuries ago and showed no sign of dying out. Bogg even remembered being here before, though never at this time. Just why the Omni had sent him here of all places, he could not begin to guess, but there had to be a reason.

Thrusting his hands casually into the pockets of his jeans, he joined the crowd wandering through the market. Beyond a few straying glances, he attracted little attention. A few vendors called out to him as he passed but he just shook his head with a smile and moved on.

Once or twice, he paused, drawn by some of the more unusual sights and sounds. Covent Garden boasted a fair number of street performers too: Bogg saw a pretty girl in a brightly colored skirt and blouse dancing to the music of a gypsy violin. A little further along, he encountered a longhaired, denim-clad duo, playing a guitar and a penny whistle; he could not tell at a glance if the pair were men, women, or one of each.

A crowd had gathered towards the far end of the square and were exclaiming appreciatively over something Bogg could not yet see. Then he glimpsed a series of balls and clubs spinning and turning high in the air and two pairs of deft hands catching them effortlessly.

The Voyager smiled and began to stroll in that direction. Some things never changed, whatever the century: jugglers were always hugely popular with crowds. 

He was just nearing the mass of spectators when a flurry of movement at the periphery caught his attention. Suddenly a familiar voice rang out, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A voice he had first heard four years ago but never at such a volume or holding that note of frantic desperation.

"Stop him! He's got my baby!"

TO BE CONTINUED


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Back again, and if not quite as soon as I'd hoped, at least sooner than last time

A/N: Back again, and if not quite as soon as I'd hoped, at least sooner than last time! In this installment, Bogg's London adventure starts out with a bang as he pursues a kidnapper, then reunites with an old friend—and a young one.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 12

Without a second thought, Bogg ran towards the voice. He almost didn't need to see the young woman lying in the street, her dark hair tumbling free in wild curls, her dark eyes huge with terror as she struggled to rise, a child's shoe clutched in one hand. 

"Which way?" he barked, coming to a halt before her.

"There!" Kathy pointed, and Bogg took off in the direction indicated, without another word spoken.

The kidnapper had had a head start but fortunately not too much of one. And the adrenaline pumping fiercely through Bogg's veins helped him close the distance between them. In a matter of seconds, he spotted the culprit--a man in a dirty pea jacket, a cap pulled low on his head--making for one of the side streets. His flight, however, was considerably hampered by the toddler struggling in his arms.

Bogg caught his breath when he glimpsed the child's familiar face, just visible over his captor's shoulder: pale, frightened, and big-eyed. Renewed determination surged through him and he lengthened his stride until he was no more than ten feet behind. Then, gathering his strength, he launched himself forward in a mighty leap -- and tackled his quarry about the knees. They crashed to the pavement, Bogg, kidnapper, baby and all.

The would-be kidnapper swore, wriggling and twisting to free himself from Bogg's grip on his legs. Jeffrey, meanwhile, was screaming like a banshee, in mingled fear and outrage. Bogg lunged forward to grab hold of the kid, twisting to avoid a knee in his gut and, in the process, getting his first look at whom he'd been chasing.

The shock nearly took his breath away: he had never seen this man before in his life. Youngish, perhaps still in his twenties, with pale hair falling lankly over his forehead, and pale blue eyes glaring down into Bogg's. He was unshaven too and his breath reeked of stale beer--he could not have been less like the foppish, immaculate Drake.

Cursing again, the kidnapper lunged for Jeffrey but Bogg wrapped his arms more tightly around the boy, shielding him with his own body. Hanging on to Jeff was the most important thing, even more important than catching this guy. Shouts and the sound of running footsteps reached their ears. The kidnapper stood for a moment, irresolute, then tore off down the street, with another snarled obscenity.

Bogg sat up dazedly, feeling the reaction begin to set in, for himself and for Jeffrey. No longer screaming, the little boy buried his face in his rescuer's shoulder as he whimpered and shook. Bogg didn't blame him one bit.

"Shhh," he soothed, patting the child's back. "It's okay, Mommy's coming, Mommy's coming--"

And suddenly she was there, eyes wide and wild in her pale face, her son's missing shoe still clutched in one hand. Jeffrey cried out and immediately reached towards her, and Bogg just as hastily, passed his precious burden into her waiting arms.

Clasping her son for dear life, Kathy burst into tears. Jeffrey, witnessing his mother's distress, promptly followed suit, and the two clung to each other, sobbing. Bogg, his arms stretched around them both, felt an almost primitive rush of fury. If anyone, anyone at all, tried to hurt them . . . 

"'Ere now, miss," a new voice broke in, and Bogg glanced up to see a uniformed figure standing over them, looking deeply concerned. "Wot's the trouble?"

**--xxx--**

The nearest police station, to which the constable escorted them, was just a short distance away. With the grit Bogg had come to expect from her, Kathy pulled herself together to give a coherent account of what had happened, to the sergeant on duty. Walking through Covent Garden on the way back to their flat, mother and son had stopped to watch the juggling. Suddenly, a man had appeared beside them, shoved Kathy to the ground, grabbed Jeffrey and taken off. No, she hadn't gotten a good look at his face, he'd moved too quickly for that. 

Fortunately, Bogg could fill in some of the blanks. He gave as complete a description of the suspect as he could manage, the sergeant noted it all duly, asked Bogg and Kathy a few more questions, then kindly phoned for a taxi to take Mrs. Jones and her son home.

"You'll come with us, won't you, Phineas?" Kathy asked. It was almost the first thing she'd said to him since they'd met up again. "Bill won't be home for at least another hour."

"I'll come," Bogg promised. "Sure you don't want to call him?"

"I'd rather tell him about this, face to face. And our son is safe now, thanks to you." She gave him a wavery smile. "Guess I'm lucky it'ssuch a small world--and that you're still a Good Samaritan! But what are you doing here, in London?"

Bogg shrugged. "Short vacation." It seemed the most believable explanation. "What about you? I thought you and Bill were pretty much settled in New York."

"We are. It's just that Bill got the opportunity to teach abroad for a semester--a history course at London University. We thought it would be a nice change." Kathy shivered. "I never expected anything like this to happen! Stupid of me--kidnappings can happen anywhere."

Bogg reached out and tentatively patted her shoulder. "I'll stay with you until Bill comes. You and the kid shouldn't be alone right now."

"Thanks." Kathy tightened her hold upon her son, whom she had refused to relinquish to anyone the entire time she had been at the police station. For his own part, Jeffrey had clung to his mother like a limpet, unwilling to be dislodged.

Bogg cleared his throat. "Um--would you like me to take him for you, at least as far as the taxi? Your arms must be getting pretty tired."

Kathy shook her head vehemently. "Thanks again, but no! I'm not letting him out of my sight. Besides, Jeffrey's a little shy around strangers. Although," she paused to give Bogg a thoughtful look, "he doesn't seem to have minded you holding him when you got him away from that man."

"Probably because I told him Mommy was coming," Bogg explained. He glanced at his future partner, whose face was still hidden against Kathy's neck. "So, how old is he?"

"He'll be two years old in October." Kathy reached up to stroke her son's hair. "Jeffrey, _caro_--this is Mr. Bogg, the man who saved you. Can you say 'hello' to him?"

The little boy raised his head at last. Beneath a thatch of tousled black curls, a pair of dark eyes regarded Bogg curiously. Then, apparently overcome by shyness, he put his head down again without saying a word.

Bogg found himself smiling. "Pretty easy to see whose kid he is."

Kathy managed a little laugh. "So I've been told. But when he frowns, he looks just like Bill." She stood up, balancing Jeffrey's weight on one jeans-clad hip. "Can you get the stroller for me? I'm sure the taxi must be here by now."

**--xxx--**

They did not have very far to ride. The taxi deposited them outside a block of flats on Holborn Street, and they made their way up two flights of stairs, Kathy carrying Jeffrey, Bogg transporting the stroller and the few purchases Kathy had made at Covent Garden.

"Home, sweet home," Jeffrey's mother remarked with a sigh, closing the front door behind them and locking it for good measure. "We couldn't afford any place too expensive, but it looks like heaven right about now."

"I'll bet it does." Setting down his burdens, Bogg glanced around the flat, which was indeed modest but clean and well kept. "You want me to fix you a cup of tea or something? You look like you could use it."

"Tea would be just great," Kathy said fervently. "But I don't want to trouble you, I can make the tea--"

"It's no trouble. Besides, _you_," Bogg pointed at her, "need to take care of _him_," he pointed at Jeffrey. "Which is a lot more important. Is he usually this quiet?"

"No," she admitted, glancing worriedly at her son. "Only when he's tired, or sick, or scared. Otherwise, I can't get him to stop talking."

"Well, he's had a heck of a scare today," Bogg pointed out. "We all did. Do you let him have tea too?"

"Just a little, and with a lot of milk in it. Cambric tea, I think it's called." Kathy kissed the top of Jeffrey's head. "His eyes are practically shut--maybe a nap would help."

"Worth a try. Where's the kitchen?"

Kathy tilted her head to the left. "Over that way. You sure you can manage?"

"It'll be just fine," Bogg assured her, as he set off.

Fortunately, it was. The stove proved easy to operate, and before long, Bogg had the kettle filled and simmering away on the range. He located tea bags and cups without too much difficulty as well, and found a bottle of milk and half a lemon in the refrigerator. From the living room, he could hear Kathy singing softly in what sounded like Italian--probably a lullaby. Returning to check on mother and son, he found the former gently laying the latter down on the sofa.

"He's just dozed off, but he sleeps much better with his 'blankie,'" Kathy explained, _sotto voc_e. "Could you watch him, while I go get it?"

"Sure thing," Bogg promised, keeping his own voice low.

Smiling, Kathy tiptoed out of the room. On the sofa, Jeffrey continued to slumber, looking remarkably like one of those curly-headed little angels found on church ceilings. It was a look that Bogg knew well and he felt a surge of fierce protectiveness.

That too was familiar. He was used to feeling protective and even tender towards Jeffrey. As smart and gutsy as the boy was, he was still a kid, at least physically, and vulnerable. And never more so than now, when he was just a baby. 

_Not even two years old yet. Damn Drake._

If it _were_ Drake who was responsible for what happened that afternoon . . . 

Bogg frowned, struck by sudden misgivings. Had he been mistaken, after all? He'd been so sure, back in 1968, that he was tracking the rogue Voyager. Susan had taken the cigar back to HQ to be analyzed; she'd promised to let him know the results as soon as they were available. Bogg had been pretty confident, though, that they would only confirm his suspicions.

Yet even if that proved to be the case, he realized, those results would not incriminate Drake in _today's_ incident. The child-snatcher had been a stranger, whom Bogg had never seen before. Oh, it was possible that Drake might have hired someone to do his dirty work, and it was certainly in character. But as far as the burden of proof went, in the absence of a smoking gun--or another smoking cigar--Bogg was back to square one.

And there were other possible motives for kidnapping, he acknowledged reluctantly. His stomach roiled queasily as he considered the ugliest of those motives, and he swallowed hard, fighting down the resulting nausea. The thought of _any_ child being abused like that . . . 

Snatching the Omni from his belt, he flipped the device open and noted without surprise the still-blinking red light. Unlike his assignment in 1968, he did not need to speculate as to the cause of the problem. This time, the answer was crystal-clear.

He'd prevented a kidnapping. But Jeffrey's abductor--whoever he might be--was still out there, waiting for another chance.

TO BE CONTINUED


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Abject apologies to those who have been following this story and waiting for the next installment. Real life complications, other writing assignments, and an irrational phobia regarding the number 13 were among the factors that held this chapter up. But now that each of those obstacles has been dealt with, I hope to be back on track from this point on.

When we last left our heroes, Jeffrey was kicking his heels at VHQ while Bogg tried to fix the various problems in his partner's pre-Voyager existence that prevented him from time-traveling. So far, Bogg's mission has taken him to Manhattan in 1968 and now London in 1972, where he has just foiled an attempt to kidnap Jeffrey as a toddler. Now reunited with the Joneses, Bogg continues to worry about the escaped kidnapper making a second attempt to abduct Jeffrey.

Same disclaimers apply.

A STITCH IN TIME—Chapter 13

Kathy slipped back into the room so quietly that Bogg almost didn't hear her. Over her arm was draped a faded square of blue flannel, its satin binding worn and frayed with use. Crossing to the sofa, she covered her son with the blanket, then brushed back his curls to kiss his forehead. _"Sonno bene, bambino mio,"_ she whispered.

_Sleep well, my baby_.

Stepping away, Kathy joined Bogg on the other side of the room, but her gaze still lingered on Jeffrey.

Bogg touched her arm gently. "Want me to bring the tea things out here? You could keep a closer eye on him that way."

She flashed him a grateful smile. "I'd like that, thanks."

The kettle was just beginning to whistle when Bogg stepped back into the kitchen. Turning off the gas ring, he made tea for himself and Jeffrey's mother, then carried the steaming cups out to the living room. Seating themselves on the rug before the electric fireplace, they drank their tea and quietly began to catch up on things.

"Still working for the same firm?" Kathy inquired.

"Uh, yeah," Bogg replied after only a split second's pause to recall the story he and Susan had set up four years ago. "Still traveling, still troubleshooting. How about you?" he added, quickly changing the subject. "You haven't quit singing, have you?"

"Not at all," Kathy assured him. "I still practice every day, and I sing with the local Gilbert and Sullivan Society on weekends--but right now, being Jeffrey's mom takes up most of my energy." She smiled. "And to tell the truth, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"How has Bill taken to being a dad?"

"Oh, like a duck to water. I think he was born for this. " She paused, her smile growing wistful. "They say your whole life changes once you become a parent. I didn't know the half of it until I had Jeffrey. Nonna told me that having a child was like having your heart walk around outside your body. And she's right. I love him. I love him so much. And even more because --" she broke off with that little shake of her head he remembered so well.

Sometimes Jeffrey's eyes were sad enough to break Bogg's heart. Seeing a shadow of that sadness now, in Kathy's eyes, awoke the same impulse to try to make things better somehow.

"Because?" he prompted gently

"I miscarried," she confessed. "Once before Jeffrey, once after. Last time it was -- pretty serious. Bill doesn't think it would be safe for us to try again." She sighed. "I really wanted to have others, not just for my sake, but for Jeffrey's. It's lonely being an only child."

"Maybe he'll have cousins," Bogg suggested. "Doesn't Bill have a sister?"

Kathy's mouth twisted slightly, as if she'd bitten into something sour. "I don't think Elizabeth cares much for kids," was all she said.

Bogg winced inwardly. Future knowledge could be a curse as well as a blessing. How could he even think of telling Kathy that her misgivings about her sister-in-law were not unfounded? Jeffrey spoke even less about his aunt than about his parents but what little he had let slip had not reflected well upon their relationship. Even more chilling was the realization of what lay ahead, some ten years distant, for the whole family . . . 

Suppressing a shiver, Bogg took a swallow of cooling tea before he could say something he shouldn't. 

"But enough about me," Kathy resumed, more brightly. "What else has been going on with _you_ these last four years? You mentioned you had the same job. Are you and Susan still -- together?"

"Yeah, kind of. We're gonna be meeting up later." That too was true, or would be, Bogg supposed. Susan had said she would join him at his new destination as soon as she dropped off the cigar to be analyzed at the VHQ lab. He wondered if she would have the results by the time they met up again.

Kathy's brows arched. "Susan's in London too?"

"Shared vacation," Bogg improvised hastily.

Jeffrey's mother gave him a knowing smile. "Sounds promising. Thinking of settling down someday?"

Bogg felt his face heat and not from the tea. "Maybe someday," he replied, giving her a quelling look.

Kathy chuckled, looking only slightly repentant. "Sorry! I guess I'm just pulling for my friends to be as happy as Bill and I have been."

"I'm just glad you and Bill _are_ happy," Bogg said, smiling back. "No problems with this move to England?"

She shook her head. "I've really enjoyed the experience of living in a different country for a while. Not that I'm not looking forward to going back to New York in the fall, because I am, but this has been an adventure. Although," she added, her face clouding again at the memory, "I could've done without what happened this afternoon."

"Couldn't we all," Bogg agreed. Especially the kid, he thought.

There was the rattle of a key in the lock, and Kathy sprang to her feet. "That'll be Bill," she said. "Let me handle this, Phineas."

**--xxx--**

Bill Jones looked scarcely changed himself after four years -- a little heavier maybe and better dressed, but his handshake was as warm, his manner as friendly as ever when he greeted Bogg. His whole demeanor changed when Kathy broke the news of Jeffrey's near-kidnapping to him. For the first time, Bogg saw Bill truly angry, his face darkening, his eyes growing hard as flint. He did not yell, he barely raised his voice, but the quiet menace in his tone as he asked for further details made Bogg's scalp prickle. Even the air around him seemed charged with barely controlled fury. 

Kathy tried to put as positive a spin on the situation as possible: Jeffrey was safe, the police had a full description of the suspect, everything seemed to be under control. Bill, however, was all for calling in the friend of a friend, who worked as a private investigator. Or at least hiring someone to follow Kathy around until the would-be kidnapper had been caught. Privately, Bogg thought the idea had some merit but Jeffrey's mother disagreed.

"_Caro_, I don't need a bodyguard!" Kathy protested. "I'll just be extra-careful from now on. Maybe I can get a child-harness to make sure Jeffrey doesn't wander off when we're out together."

Her husband shook his head. "A harness won't stop a kidnapper. Six foot two of muscle might!"

"Bill--"

"No arguments, Kathy! When it comes to keeping you and Jeffrey safe, I'm going to do whatever it takes," Bill said grimly. "Even if that means hiring all of Scotland Yard to watch our flat!"

"Want Daddy," a small, sleepy voice suddenly announced from the depths of the sofa.

Some of the tension left Bill's face at that. His shoulders relaxed and he turned with a smile towards the sofa and his son, who was sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with tiny fists.

"Hey, champ!" Bill scooped the boy into his arms, blanket and all. "Your mommy tells me you've had a pretty rough day."

Jeffrey nodded solemnly as he wrapped his arms around his father's neck and his legs about his father's waist, clinging like a barnacle.

"Everything's going to be okay now," Bill told his son. "I promise."

From the look on the kid's face, it was plain to see that he thought his father could do _anything. _Watching them together made Bogg's chest feel strangely tight.

"Phineas, what do _you_ think?" Kathy appealed to him.

"I think," Bogg began, "that this is something you and Bill need to work out between yourselves." He glanced from one to the other of Jeffrey's parents. "But I also think he has a point about your not going out alone, at least for a while."

Kathy sighed, then nodded in reluctant agreement. "Safety in numbers. Okay--maybe I can talk a friend or two into coming with us when we run errands." She glanced over at her husband and made a further concession. "And if the police don't make any satisfactory progress with this case, maybe we can consider a private investigator too."

Bill's expression remained grave, but his posture seemed to relax slightly. "All right," he said, making a small concession of his own. "We'll let the police handle things for now." He freed an arm and held it open to her, and Kathy walked into his embrace, slipping her own arms about her husband and her son.

Bogg swallowed, moved by the sight of the three dark heads so close together. "I should -- I should get going," he said at last. "Susan's expecting me."

Bill looked up at that. "Thank you, Phineas," he said quietly. "We owe you for this -- all of us."

"I was glad to help," Bogg told him with perfect truth. "And I hope the police catch this guy soon."

"Yeah, me too." Bill bent his head over Jeffrey's again. "Can you say 'thank you' to Mr. Bogg?" he asked the boy.

"There's no need for that," Bogg assured him. "Besides,Kathy mentioned that he was shy of strangers." It seemed odd to think of the Jeffrey _he_ knew as ever having been shy.

"So come to dinner tomorrow night--you and Susan--and become less of a stranger," Bill retorted. 

Bogg smiled. "I'll have to talk to Susan about it, first."

"Tell her we won't take no for an answer," Kathy chimed in. "And don't worry, it won't be anything too fancy." She laughed a little. "It'll be English food, after all--fish and chips or maybe a steak. Do say you'll come!"

"I'll get back to you on that," Bogg promised. He glanced over at Jeffrey, who had turned his head to stare at him with those solemn dark eyes, and gave him his best smile. _"Ciao, bambino."_

He thought he saw the corners of Jeffrey's mouth turn up, just a little, before the boy hid his face against Bill's shoulder once more.

Bidding the Joneses a good evening, Bogg let himself out of the flat, closing the door on their intimate family reunion.

**--xxx--**

The sky was darkening, he noticed as he stepped out onto the street again, and he thought he could even see a few early stars appearing. No sign of Susan, though. Uneasily, Bogg unhooked the Omni and flipped it open again. Red light, still. Reclipping the device to his belt, he looked around, hoping to see his partner somewhere in the vicinity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move, and he turned his head hopefully in that direction -- and then caught his breath sharply.

A short figure in what looked like a dirty pea jacket, a cap pulled down low on its head, was skulking around the building next to the one housing the Joneses' flat.

Coincidence? Damned unlikely. But how had the kidnapper found out where Bill and Kathy were staying?

He could ask questions later -- after he had caught the creep. Abandoning caution, Bogg began to trail the suspect, trying to keep enough distance between them so he could duck behind something if necessary. All the same, he did not dare to take his eyes off his quarry.

The suspect quickened his pace but did not look back. Encouraged, Bogg lengthened his own stride, pulled up short when he saw the shorter man suddenly dart around another building and vanish from sight.

An escape route? Bogg wondered. Or could he be meeting someone? 

Someone like -- Drake. 

Bogg hesitated for a moment, but he had come too far to turn back now. Quickly, he resumed his pursuit, rounded the building in his turn . . . 

And found himself in a narrow alley, with a high brick wall blocking his view. He was just about to turn around, when he heard a step behind him and then, more ominously, the metallic click of a gun being cocked.

A voice spoke, thickly accented, holding a note of gloating triumph. "'Ands up, you bastard!"

Bogg silently cursed his own recklessness. Desperation was no excuse for falling for this guy's trap. Now he had to find a way out--and fast. Raising his hands very slowly, he let his gaze move from side to side, seeking some means of escape, or delay at least.

Then, quite suddenly, he heard it: a high-pitched whine like an incoming mortar shell that he recognized all too well.

The cavalry didn't always come riding over the hill, Bogg reflected. Sometimes they dropped right out of the sky and landed with an audible splat on the bad guys.

As Susan did now.

TO BE CONTINUED


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Household repairs and other mundane matters slowed progress down on this one, but here it is at last. 

In this installment, Bogg and Susan interrogate the kidnapper – and get some disturbing answers. Mature language warning; for those who are missing the 13-year-old Jeffrey, rest assured that he will be back onstage soon.

Same disclaimers apply

PART FOURTEEN

"Bloody 'ell," the kidnapper moaned, from his position on the ground. "Me leg's broken!" He added a few more things that were unprintable.

Bogg, holding the gun on him while Susan contacted the police from the nearest call box, eyed him with a total lack of sympathy. "Too bad it wasn't your neck," he said coldly. "Creeps who snatch little kids from their mothers' arms don't deserve any better."

The kidnapper's pale eyes narrowed to hostile slits. "Yeh? Wot about bints 'oo scarper wiv the kids and never let the dad see 'em?"

"_What?_" Bogg stared at the kidnapper in disbelief, equally confused by his meaning and his use of street cant.

"You 'eard me, you stupid sod! That Jones bitch's deprivin' 'er kid's dad of 'is _legal rights_." He emphasized the last two words with evident satisfaction.

"Mrs. Jones is _married _to her kid's dad!" Bogg snapped. "So why don't you shut your filthy mouth?"

The kidnapper hooted in derision. "An' I'm the bloomin' Queen Elizabeth! 'Oo do you think 'ired me to get 'is son back for 'im from 'is ex and 'er new bloke?"

"How about the world's biggest liar?" Susan offered coolly, reappearing in the alley.

Bogg glanced at her. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." Skirting the prone form of the suspect, she came to his side. "The police will be here soon."

"Good." Bogg fixed his glare on the kidnapper again. "Listen up, dirtbag," he snarled, "'cause I'm only gonna say this once. Whoever you're workin' for is lying through his teeth. I know those people whose kid you tried to grab today. I was at their wedding _four_ years ago. Yeah, four," he added for emphasis as the man's eyes widened. "That little boy is all theirs. Neither of them was married to anyone else before."

"He's right," Susan confirmed. "I was at that wedding too, and those people are friends of ours." She gazed icily down at the suspect in her turn. "Pretty stupid of you not to check out that story first."

"I don't believe you!" The kidnapper glanced wildly from one to the other. "'E 'ad papers'n everything--"

"Documents can be faked," Susan informed him. "What did he show you? Marriage license, birth certificate?"

"Yeh." It came out as a sulky mumble.

"Any photos of the happy family together?" she continued. "Of Daddy holding Junior? Even a lock of hair, just to show they're related?" 

The kidnapper's sullen silence was answer enough.

"Looks like you've been had," Susan said, with a faintly contemptuous smile. "A piece of paper doesn't prove a thing, but a picture really is worth a thousand words."

The kidnapper's shoulders slumped as the truth of her words sank in. "Bloody, lyin' bastard . . . "

"Tell me his name," Bogg ordered. "The man who hired you. What's he calling himself?"

"Wot's it worth ter yer?" the man asked with a fading spark of defiance.

"How about your other leg?" Bogg suggested, pointing the gun menacingly at the kidnapper's knee.

The man blenched, the change visible even in the waning light. "Mallard! 'E calls 'imself Mallard!"

**--xxx--**

Mallard. 

Drake. 

Bogg supposed there was a chance in a hundred that it could be a coincidence. But he doubted it. And when he'd heard Susan's sharp intake of breath, he'd known that she didn't believe it was a coincidence either.

A few more threats had yielded "Mr. Mallard's" address and the information that the kidnapper had been en route to meet him before Bogg had pursued him into the alley. That had been all the Voyager needed to formulate his own plan.

Susan had objected strenuously to it at first, recommending that he let the police handle everything and pointing out that playing vigilante could very easily get him killed. Bogg had countered that this was the best chance of catching and stopping Drake, who would hardly hang around long enough to be arrested. The element of surprise would be on their side this time. 

Finally, she had capitulated and slipped him a hairpin to help him pick any inconvenient locks. Subtlety and finesse would be required in dealing with Drake, she had reminded him tartly. Breaking down a door required neither.

Once the police had arrived and loaded the groaning kidnapper into their car, Bogg had slipped away, following the directions he had been given. It was possible that the suspect might have exacted a petty revenge by sending him on a wild goose chase but Bogg didn't think so. The kidnapper was far more likely to turn on the man who'd gotten him into this mess in the first place and who would probably try to skip town without forking over a penny of the "five 'undred quid" he'd promised to pay.

How long, Bogg wondered, had _this_ plan been in the making? Bill and Kathy were here for a semester -- a good four or five months. Long enough to have fake documents made and to find some petty criminal capable of carrying out a kidnapping and greedy enough (or stupid enough) not to ask questions.

Bogg shivered, his blood running cold at the very thought of a helpless baby in Drake's power. And when that baby was Jeff . . . 

What would the rogue Voyager have done next? Put the boy in an orphanage? Hidden him somewhere in time, so he might never know who he was or what he was supposed to become? Or simply killed him outright? As abhorrent as the last possibility was, Bogg could not rule it out where Drake was concerned. Although, he reasoned, Drake did not like to soil his hands, as a general rule. Most of his methods had been indirect, though highly damaging -- as those thirty Voyagers convicted on false evidence could attest. Bryce had said that the changes in Jeffrey's timeline could be due to any significant divergence from his previous history. Taking the kid away from his parents would certainly count as significant!

He'd reached his destination at last: an unprepossessing block of flats that few passers-by would bother looking at twice. At a guess, though, it probably had some kind of security system. Fortunately, Bogg was saved from having to resort to Susan's hairpin by the timely appearance of a couple just exiting the building. Deep in conversation, the two spared hardly a glance for Bogg as he edged past them on the front steps and caught the knob just before the door closed.

Once inside the foyer, he made for the stairs. According to the kidnapper, "Mallard's" flat was on the second floor.-- number 2D, to be exact. Bogg slipped down the hall as stealthily as possible, praying that no one else would emerge from his or her apartment while he was in the process of breaking and entering.

Luck was with him, though, as he neared the door, its brass numbers gleaming dully in the dim light. He cast another quick glance around the hallway, then produced Susan's hairpin and set to work.

He'd first learned to pick locks in his early years as a pirate. To his relief, none of his old skill had deserted him: the tumblers soon yielded to his prodding, giving way with a tiny click. Bogg exhaled carefully, then eased the door open without a sound and slipped into the room.

All was dark and silent: in fact, the room appeared to be deserted. Had he come too late, after all? Cursing inwardly, his every nerve prickling with apprehension, Bogg took a cautious step forward and then another, thankful for the carpet that masked his footfalls. 

He had gone perhaps another three steps into the room when he detected a flicker of movement out of the corner of his left eye . . .

His reflexes saved him. Flinging up an arm to protect his head, he caught the full force of the blow on his shoulder. The impact made him gasp and he lurched off-balance, falling to one knee. Through a haze of pain, he saw the object descending again and flung himself aside just before it could connect, thudding dully onto the carpet beside him. Some kind of heavy stick . . . a cane -- or was it a club?

In the darkness, his assailant was visible only as a shadowy shape but Bogg could hear his harsh breathing, could sense him gathering strength for another blow. Quickly, Bogg lashed out with a lightning sweep of one leg, felt it collide with solid flesh and bone. Taken by surprise, his opponent grunted and staggered, losing his grip on the weapon. They both lunged for it but Bogg got there first, his fingers closing over the handle even as the other scrabbled and scratched at his hands. Bogg rammed an elbow into his opponent's midriff and was rewarded by a gasping, retching crow and then another thud as the other man crumpled to the floor. 

Exulting silently, Bogg managed to clamber to his feet, still keeping a firm grip on the weapon. His shoulder screamed in protest but he ignored it as best he could, gritting his teeth as he lurched towards his fallen foe . . . 

Only to find that he had vanished completely and without a trace. As only a Voyager could.

TO BE CONTINUED


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: New month, new chapter! In the last installment, Bogg found one culprit in Jeff's kidnapping, but lost the mastermind behind it all. Now, he and Susan pick up the pieces. And, as promised, the Return of the Kid!

Same disclaimers apply.

----------------

PART FIFTEEN

"This may hurt, at first . . . "

"Owww!" Bogg yelped, abandoning all attempts at stoicism. "Bat's breath -- that's cold!"

"Ice usually is." Susan peered more closely at his bare shoulder and gave a sympathetic wince. "That's going to be one nasty bruise."

"No kidding," Bogg said sourly. "He clobbered me with a baseball bat. Or something a lot like it."

"A cricket bat, maybe." Susan's tone was a little absent as she shifted the makeshift cold-pack--loose ice cubes wrapped in a washcloth--to a better position over the injury.

"Can't believe we got a green light," Bogg groused, glowering at the Omni in the palm of his hand. "He got away--again--and history's _okay_ with this?"

"Count your blessings," Susan advised him. "At least we know his days as a baby-snatcher are probably over."

Bogg grunted. "'Probably' being the operative word."

She gave him a wry smile. "In this job, we have to take what we can get. Jeffrey's safe, his parents have been warned, Drake's accomplice is in jail and singing like a canary the last I heard -- all's well that ends well."

"Until next time," Bogg muttered, flipping the Omni shut again. But he had to admit that Susan had a point. Losing Drake had been a major disappointment, but Jeff's being okay was all that really mattered. After limping out of the rogue Voyager's abandoned flat, he had made his way back to Susan, who had been waiting for him outside the police station. Together they had slipped away, checked into the first hotel that looked halfway decent, and tended to Bogg's shoulder.

A knock on the door startled them both. Bogg glanced quizzically at his partner. "You call for room service?"

Susan shook her head and made her way over to the door. "Yes?" she called tentatively.

"It's me, Beckett," a male voice announced.

"Oh!" Susan stole a confirming glance through the peephole, then unlatched the door to admit the senior lab tech. Removing the ice pack, Bogg eased himself back into his shirt and began to sit up.

"Everything okay?" Beckett asked, eyeing him with some concern. Behind them, Susan closed and relatched the door.

Bogg shrugged his good shoulder. "Piece of cake. What have you got there?" he asked, jerking his chin towards the suitcase the other man was carrying.

"Extra clothes, among other things. The VLS showed you were in trouble," Beckett added to Bogg. "Once we saw that, Susan Omnied in right away, to help."

"Perfect timing," Bogg remarked to Susan, now rejoining him on the couch.

She smiled. "I do my best."

"I take it the situation was dealt with?" Beckett asked.

Both Voyagers nodded. "Everything's under control," Susan reported. "And we have a green light now too."

"Good," Beckett said, smiling. "There's someone back at VHQ who'll be very glad to hear that. In fact," he continued, "I thought you might want to tell him that yourself, so I brought this along too." He handed Bogg a now-familiar object: the HGT.

The device in his hand, Bogg glanced questioningly up at the tech.

"Voyager Jones has been pretty worried about you," Beckett explained. "I think he'd be relieved if you got in touch with him. He's on stand-by at Mission Control."

Voyager Jones. Even after nearly two years, it was strange to hear Jeffrey called that. A big handle for such a little kid. All right, maybe not so little anymore, Bogg amended. Even if he could still scoop the boy up as if he weighed nothing at all.

He felt a sharp ache somewhere in the region of his heart. All of the sudden, he wanted very much to see Jeff, to reassure himself that the kid was safe and well.

"You want us to leave you two alone?" Susan asked, accurately gauging his thoughts.

"No, no --that's okay," Bogg assured her. "In fact, I could use some help making myself decent again."

Susan reached over to help him do up his shirt buttons again, then dropped the discarded cold-pack into the ice bucket. "You can put this back on again, afterwards."

"Thanks." Personally, Bogg would have preferred to forget the ice altogether but he doubted he'd be allowed to do so. Slipping on the headset, he flicked the HGT's "on" switch and pointed the device towards the largest empty space.

Again the rectangle of light materialized in the middle of the hotel room. A few seconds later, Jeffrey's image appeared within it. "Bogg!"

"Hey, kid." Even though Bogg knew they were communicating across different time zones, it was still startling to see thirteen-year-old Jeff gazing at him, when he'd parted from the toddler version just a few hours ago.

"Are you okay?" The boy's dark eyes were wide and anxious. "Bryce and Beckett said--"

"Everything's fine, Jeff," Bogg said hastily. "Nothing to worry about."

Jeffrey's posture relaxed a little, but he did not seem entirely reassured. "What was the problem? No one at HQ could tell me anything."

"Well . . . " Bogg hesitated, then quickly made up his mind. Whatever happened, he was determined to protect the boy. "There was this prowler, hanging around your folks' flat in London," he said at last. "I followed him into an alley, Susan landed on him, and then we turned him over to the police." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan make a sudden movement towards him, then stop herself.

"A prowler?" Jeffrey echoed, frowning. "But -- why? Mom and Dad didn't have a whole lot of money back then."

Bogg shrugged, careful again to use only his good shoulder. "Dunno. Maybe he still thought they'd have something he wanted."_ Like a baby someone had paid him 500 quid to kidnap_, his conscience added. "Anyway," Bogg resumed, trying to drown out that inner voice, "we stopped him. And got a green light too." Flipping open the Omni, he held it up to show Jeffrey the result.

"So it's all over?" Jeffrey sounded dubious.

"Looks like." Bogg kept his tone nonchalant. "I did run into your folks again," he added, by way of distraction. "They're doing fine--and they even asked me to come by for dinner tomorrow."

Again, a series of emotions played across the boy's face--wistfulness, a slight trace of envy, then determined optimism. "You're gonna go, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I thought I might, before taking off again," Bogg said. "Just to make sure everything's all right. Oh, and I got to meet you today as well."

Jeffrey blinked and the older Voyager wondered if it was as disconcerting for him to hear of his younger self as it had been for Bogg to encounter him. "You did?"

"Yeah. You hardly talked at all--I couldn't believe you were the same kid," Bogg teased.

That earned him an expressive roll of dark eyes. "Real funny, Bogg."

Bogg chuckled, letting his momentary amusement mask his deeper concern. "Well, I guess you can't really expect a two-year-old to carry on a conversation. Look, Jeff," his tone softened, "it's kind of late, here, and maybe we're both getting kinda tired. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?"

Jeffrey looked instantly contrite. "I didn't know I was keeping you up. Sorry, Bogg!"

"It's okay, kid. Why don't we both get some rest?"

The boy nodded his agreement. "Okay. Goodnight, Bogg."

"Goodnight, Jeff." Bogg flicked the "off" switch and the light winked out. He could sense the heavy silence behind him without turning around. When he did, finally, he saw Susan and Beckett both watching him with suspiciously neutral expressions.

"Don't say it," Bogg warned.

Susan spread her hands wide. "I didn't say a word."

"You didn't have to. Your face did it all for you. You think I should tell Jeff."

"Since you're asking -- yes, I think you should," she replied.

"And I suppose you agree with her?" Bogg asked Beckett.

The tech glanced from one of them to the other. "Are we -- talking about what I think we're talking about?"

"What did you think we were talking about?" Bogg asked, suddenly wary.

Beckett blew out a breath. "About who was smoking the cigar you wanted analyzed." Again he glanced at the two Voyagers. "I thought you'd want to know -- it's a match."

So that was that. Official confirmation. Bogg exhaled, feeling vindicated but not relieved.

Susan's own expression was bleak. "We thought so. And now that you know," she added to Beckett, "we can tell you that the same person was behind the problems here, just as he was in 1968. Unfortunately, he got away again."

The tech nodded, unfazed. "I gathered as much."

"Phineas and I have been discussing whether to tell Jeffrey--"

"He's not gonna be told," Bogg broke in. "I'm keeping Jeff out of this, and that's final!"

"You sure that's a good idea?" Beckett asked, turning a worried frown in Bogg's direction. "He might be able to help--he's a really bright kid."

"_Kid_," Bogg emphasized. "He doesn't belong in the middle of this."

Susan sighed. "Phineas, with all due respect, he _is_ in the middle of this, whether he belongs there or not."

"Yeah, well, I don't intend to drag him in any deeper," said Bogg with finality. "You think I don't know how smart he is? Sometimes I feel like _I'm _the kid, and _he's_ the adult.

"But that's not how it is," he continued, pinning both of his companions with a steely glare. "He's only thirteen--and he's had to grow up way too fast already. No matter what it takes, I'm gonna protect him this time. Even if it means keeping him in the dark." He turned to Beckett. "And that's why I'm asking you not to tell him about all this. The cigar, Drake, what's really been going on here -- for his own safety, he can't know."

Susan bit her lip, her expression troubled; Beckett didn't look much happier.

Bogg pressed home his advantage. "And I'm not asking this just as a Voyager. I'm asking as a guardian--because Jeff's the closest thing I have to family. And families take care of each other."

"Okay, okay!" Beckett held up his hands in capitulation. "I won't tell him. But I think _you_ should," he added, meeting Bogg's eyes squarely. "Especially if you run into Voyager Drake on your next assignment."

Bogg sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll think about it," he conceded at last.

"Ia that a promise?" Susan demanded.

"I'll think about it," Bogg repeated, a note of warning in his voice.

Beckett glanced at them both and stifled a sigh. "Look, I gotta run. Between your assignment and others', things are pretty hectic at Mission Control and it's not fair to expect Bryce to hold down the fort all by himself right now."

"Okay." Susan touched the tech's shoulder briefly in a light farewell. "Thanks for dropping by--with the clothes _and_ the results."

"I hope they both come in handy," said Beckett, nodding at Bogg and unclipping a brass Omni from his own belt. A moment later, he was gone, as completely as if they had both imagined him.

Alone again. Bogg glanced warily at Susan. "You mad at me?" he ventured after what felt like a lengthy pause.

Susan sighed and shook her head. "How can I be mad when I know you're doing this because you love Jeffrey? I just don't happen to think you're 100 percent right."

"How about 90 percent?" he suggested hopefully.

She sighed again. "Time will tell," she said with a crooked smile. "Now, take off your shirt again, so I can have another look at that shoulder."

TO BE CONTINUED


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Exactly one year ago, I started this story. At the time, I would never have guessed that it would one day reach 16 chapters—or that there would be still more left after that. The good news is, I don't think it will take me another year to finish it. Thanks to everyone who has stuck around for the duration, asking questions and offering encouragement—both have been deeply appreciated. 

Onward! In this installment, Jeffrey grows suspicious, while Bogg encounters another possible "wrinkle" in time and prepares to depart 1972.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART SIXTEEN

Jeffrey rolled over onto his back and sighed, letting the book he'd been reading fall shut without bothering to note the page number.

When he and Olivia had toured the campus the other day, they'd stopped at the library. The Academy librarian had informed them proudly that their collection contained copies of every book ever written up to Jeffrey's own time. And some even written afterwards, he had added with a significant wink. At the end of their tour, he had even allowed Jeffrey to check out one. After browsing the shelves of books for younger readers, Jeffrey had picked out a title that looked interesting and carried it back to the infirmary with him, though with everything else that had been going on, he'd had no chance to start reading until this morning.

And it was a pretty good story, he decided--about a boy his own age who discovered he had magical powers and went away to a special school to learn how to use them properly. Jeffrey didn't yet understand how the Philosopher's Stone was supposed to fit into all of it, but he imagined he'd find out eventually.

Trouble was, last night's conversation with Bogg kept coming between him and the printed page. It made no sense -- he should have been feeling relieved. His partner had taken care of the prowler in 1972, just as he had taken care of the random accidents that had befallen Jeffrey's parents in 1968.

Random. Jeffrey frowned up at the ceiling. Maybe that was what was bothering him--the randomness of the whole thing. According to Bryce, Jeffrey's entire life in standard time had been compromised to such an extent that he couldn't travel through time without risking total non-existence. Wouldn't something like that be due to some major problem? Something more serious than a blown electrical fuse or a petty thief hanging around his parents' apartment? As a Voyager, he knew that history could go wrong in lots of ways, but in a situation this messy there was usually some kind of connection involved. And right now he couldn't see one. Which didn't bode well for the future -- not unless Bogg saw a pattern that Jeffrey was somehow missing.

_Only -- he'd tell me about it if he did, wouldn't he? _

_Wouldn't he?_

"Jeffrey?" Olivia's voice hailed him from the doorway. "How're you doing? I was looking for you at Mission Control."

Glad of the distraction, the boy sat up, putting his book aside. "I'm okay," he said. "Just resting."

Olivia crossed the room and laid a hand gently on his forehead. "You're not coming down with something, are you? I can get a medic to check you out, if you need one."

"I'm fine," Jeffrey assured her. "A little tired, maybe, but that's all."

"Too tired to go anywhere?" Olivia asked, perching on the side of his bed. "I don't have any classes to teach until this afternoon."

"Well . . . " Jeffrey considered the matter. Nebulous though it was, a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. "Is there -- a place on campus where Omnis are made?" He tried to keep his tone casual.

"Yes, there's a lab attached to Research and Development." Olivia regarded him quizzically. "Why this sudden interest in the nuts and bolts of Omnis?"

"Because I don't know enough," Jeffrey replied at once. And that was the truth, he reasoned, if not the _whole_ truth. "When we were talking before, I realized that I've been traveling for almost two years with Bogg and I never knew that a Voyager could _send_ for reinforcements if he needed them. Made me wonder what else I don't know about using an Omni. So I thought, maybe seeing how one is put together might help in future," he concluded, hoping that he sounded convincing.

"That's not a bad idea," Olivia admitted. "In fact, several of my trainees have expressed an interest in visiting the lab too. Why don't I see if you and I can get permission to go today?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Jeffrey said, smiling. Inwardly, he prayed that he could conceal his plan from Olivia for as long as it took, and that she wouldn't be too mad if she found out about it later. It was all his idea anyway, and he was prepared to take the full blame if it didn't turn out well. 

But if the first stage worked out the way he hoped . . . maybe he wouldn't have to do anything too drastic, after all.

**--xxx--**

As Bogg had hoped, Susan had no objection to seeing the Joneses again. On the way over, they stopped for fresh-cut flowers and Susan bought a luscious-looking strawberry tart, perfect for warm weather. Climbing up the stairs to the Joneses' flat, they noticed the door was already slightly ajar--perhaps to combat the heat of the day. Out of habit, Bogg peered around the door, checking for possible hazards.

What he saw set his mind instantly at rest. Just Bill and Kathy moving about their living room, doing some last minute tidying-up. Kathy held a sleepy-looking Jeff, his curly head resting against her shoulder, but she didn't seem at all encumbered. Music was coming from somewhere, a radio or a record player: Bogg heard gentle guitar strings, then a young male voice crooning softly:

_"People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one, and we've just begun,_

_Think I'm gonna have a son._

_He will be like she and me, as free as a dove, conceived in love,_

_Sun is gonna shine above._

_And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey,_

_And everything will bring a chain of love._

_And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes,_

_And tell me everything is gonna be alright."_

Even as Bogg watched, Bill reached out and tucked a straggling curl behind Kathy's ear, then laid a caressing hand against the small of her back. She laughed, low and throaty, letting him draw her into a slow dance, Jeffrey still draped over her shoulder.Together the three of them circled the floor, Bill joining in on the song in a just-passable baritone.

_"Pisces, Virgo rising is a very good sign, strong and kind,_

_And the little boy is mine._

_Now I see a family where there once was none, now we've just begun,_

_Yeah, we're gonna fly to the sun._

_And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey,_

_And everything will bring a chain of love._

_And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes,_

_And tell me everything is gonna be alright."_

Bogg swallowed. They looked like what they were: a loving and united family. The sight made his chest tighten and his eyes sting; the happy scene before him was suddenly a blur.

"Phineas." Susan touched his arm, gazing up at him in concern.

"Allergies," Bogg said tersely, brushing at his eyes. "Let's give them the flowers, okay?" Clearing his throat, he knocked lightly on the door to alert the Joneses of their presence.

Bill and Kathy stopped dancing and looked immediately towards the door, breaking into welcoming smiles when they saw who was there.

"Phineas, Susan!" Kathy came forward to greet them, Jeffrey still in her arms. "So glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Bogg told her, and he meant it.

**--xxx--**

Dinner was fish and chips from a take-away place--it had been too hot to cook, Kathy had explained apologetically--but they were very good: golden-brown, crisp, and not too greasy. There was fresh salad, bread, and cheese, along with a variety of cold drinks and Susan's tart to follow. But all in all, Bogg thought it was the company that made the meal a success. 

Bill and Kathy were in far better spirits than they had been the previous day, mainly because they had received good news that they hastened to share with their guests.

"The police called this morning," Bill reported. "They caught the man who tried to grab Jeffrey. Apparently, he was just a petty crook working for someone else--maybe even a kidnapping ring. So far, he's cooperating and telling everything he knows. At this rate, they're sure to catch the one behind it all."

"That's great." Bogg tried to sound enthusiastic, despite knowing that it would take far more than an accomplice's testimony and Scotland Yard's resources to track down a rogue Voyager

"It's such a relief," said Kathy fervently. "Though I don't think I'll breathe freely until we're back in New York."

"How's the _bambino_ holding up?" Bogg asked, with a nod towards Jeffrey, who had revived noticeably after Kathy had given him some salad and several chips. ("Kids stay awake much better if you feed them," she had explained.) Now seated in a high chair, the little boy was gazing at everything with those big dark eyes; Bogg half-expected him to start commenting on whatever he saw, the way the Jeffrey _he_ knew would have done.

"Well, he had some bad dreams last night, but he's better now," Kathy said, reaching out to stroke her son's tousled curls. "A little quiet, a little clingy--but better. I think he'll be back to his old self in a day or two."

"He's a beautiful boy," said Susan. "You must be very proud of him."

Bill and Kathy beamed the way most parents did when receiving a compliment about their children.

"Thank you," said Jeffrey's mother. "We think he's smart too, though we probably won't know _how_ smart until he starts going to nursery school."

Bogg took a long swallow of ice water before he could say more than he should on the subject. Bill and Kathy didn't know the half of it yet, he thought. No more than _he_ had when he'd first met Jeffrey.

"How did you come to name him Jeffrey?" Susan asked. "With your family, I'd have almost expected something Italian or operatic."

Kathy laughed. "Like Figaro or Otello? I was thinking about naming him after my father, initially. But then Bill and I decided he should have his own first name."

"So there aren't any other Jeffreys in your family?" Bogg inquired, remembering how he and Jeff had met and befriended the boy's great-grandparents in 1892. He had wondered if Stephen and Amy Jones had retained--and then passed along--some memory of the child they had wanted to adopt.

"No, actually. But I did have a good friend named Jeffrey, who used to live in my neighborhood when we were kids," Bill said. "And then there was Geoffrey of Monmouth, one of the earliest British historians. And Geoffrey Chaucer, who's a pretty good resource when it comes to life in the Middle Ages."

"And I have my own fond memories of the name," Kathy added. "Do you remember, _caro_? It was just a few months after we got together. I was in that production of _Le Nozze di Figaro_--and the sweetest little boy came up to me after the show and asked me to sign his program, for 'Jeffrey with a J.'" She smiled reminiscently. "He had curly hair and these enormous brown eyes. I remember thinking he could have been my baby brother if Papa had only come back from the war."

Bogg stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and stared in wild surmise at Kathy's son, placidly consuming chips from his mother's plate. Beside him, Susan had grown just as still, her own mind no doubt racing to a similar conclusion.

But -- it wasn't possible, was it? Even though Bogg's old Omni--the device he and Jeffrey shared--did, in fact, go up to 1970 . . . 

Kathy was continuing. "So when my own curly-haired _bambino _was born, I thought of that name again. I called him after my father too, but we almost never use Jeffrey's middle name."

"I swear, all I saw of that kid was the back of his head," Bill said ruefully.

Bogg found his voice again. "How old was he, do you remember?" he asked, doing his best to sound causal.

Kathy shrugged. "Ten, or maybe twelve. Old enough to enjoy opera, not old enough to shave."

"Thank God," Bill interposed. "Or I'd have had some competition, by the sound of it!"

They laughed at that, but Bogg suppressed a shiver. He would definitely have to look into this once he returned to VHQ.

"Anyone for strawberry tart now?" Kathy asked, pushing aside her empty dinner plate.

"Strawberry?" her son echoed, with a beatific smile and a look of definite interest.

That evoked more laughter, and they all got up to clear the table for dessert.

**--xxx--**

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Over coffee and strawberry tart, Bill and Kathy shared more of their experiences of the last four years. They were eager to know how things had been for their guests as well. Bogg let Susan do most of the talking; she was much better able to "wing it" in this time zone than he was.

Once Jeffrey's eyelids were seen to start drooping, Bogg and Susan bade their hosts a cordial goodnight. Bill shook their hands, Kathy embraced them both, and their son awoke just long enough to smile sleepily and wave goodbye to his parents' departing guests. Kathy hoped they might meet up again once everyone was stateside; Susan murmured vague pleasantries over that idea but sensibly promised nothing definite.

"I have to go," Bogg said abruptly, once they were out on the street again.

Susan paused for only an instant. "Okay. Let's just get back to the hotel first."

They said little on the return trip. Bogg's thoughts were already leaping ahead to the future, speculating, wondering. Gauging his mood accurately, Susan did not try to initiate a conversation.

Back in their room, Bogg resumed the jeans and chambray shirt that were beginning to feel almost as familiar to him as his pirate clothes. Susan, meanwhile, repacked the suitcase Beckett had brought them the night before, stowing the HGT inside as well.

Bogg flipped open his Omni, looking first at the still-green light and then at the woman watching him steadily. "Before I go, I just want to say thanks -- for everything."

"What's a fellow Voyager for?" Susan said, smiling. "I'll follow as soon as I can, Phineas. Try not to get into too much trouble before I show up?"

"I'll try," Bogg promised, smiling back. Closing his eyes, he bade a silent goodbye to 1972 . . . 

And Omnied out.

TO BE CONTINUED

Lyrics quoted are from "Danny's Song" (1971) by Kenny Loggins

I rather hope the book Jeffrey is reading won't require further identification. Hey, it _could _happen.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Travel and other ongoing projects have delayed progress on this story but I am finally free to take it up again. Thanks for your patience, and I shall endeavor to finish the next part in a more timely manner!

In this installment, Bogg saves a life, but faces a serious challenge to his authority from both his partners.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART SEVENTEEN

"Adirondack Mountains, July 21, 1978," Bogg muttered, checking the Omni. The red light blinked continually up at him and he sighed, flipping the Omni shut, reattaching it to his jeans, and looking around him.

Trees. Shrubs. A rough, wooded path before him and a summer sun beating steadily down on him from a clear blue sky. Closing his eyes, Bogg listened as well, hoping to get his bearings. Birdsong. The rustle of leaves overhead in a faint breeze. And something still more familiar to him from his pirate years: the sound of water lapping against the shore.

Bogg opened his eyes, frowning in thought. Water. Not the sea--the breeze carried no scent of salt or seaweed. A river, maybe, or a lake. After a moment's consideration, he decided to walk towards the water. Maybe he'd meet someone there, who could tell him just where he was.

The trees grew more sparsely as he neared the sound and he caught sight of a flat field and a cluster of rustic-looking wooden houses. No, not houses, he amended. _Cabins._ Had he landed somewhere near a campsite?

Lengthening his stride, he cleared the last of his trees -- and saw that he had guessed correctly. A campsite--and not just any campsite, but one apparently intended for kids. Boys, in this case. Wherever Bogg looked, he saw boys of varying ages and sizes, all wearing the same blue t-shirt and canvas shorts. Some wore what seemed to be hiking gear and were trooping behind a similarly dressed counselor. Several more were seated around a table, making some kind of craft. And out on the lake, a rippling oval of dark blue water, were several canoes, each carrying a crew of kids and counselors.

Was Jeffrey here? Bogg wondered as he approached the margin of the lake, close enough that his shoes left moist imprints on the bank. He could think of no other reason why the Omni had brought him to this place. But finding one kid--even one he suspected he'd recognize right away--in the midst of so many was sure to be a challenge . . . 

And then he heard the splash, followed almost instantly by a spluttering cry for help.

The noise came from less than twenty feet away. Bogg turned his head -- and felt his blood turn cold. On a nearby dock extending into the lake stood a familiar figure, all in black, staring down at a boy threshing frantically in the water, just beyond safety's reach.

Bogg broke into a run, shouting an alarm as he came. Startled, the man on the dock looked up, snatched something from his waistband . . . and vanished.

_Murdering bastard!_ The words blazed briefly through Bogg's mind as he raced down the dock, then he was airborne, launching himself into the water towards the drowning boy.

The water was so cold it seemed to freeze his very thoughts solid, let alone his body. Surfacing with a splutter of his own, he saw the kid struggling a few feet away, apparently about to go under for the third time. Heart pounding, Bogg plunged through the water towards him, praying he would get there in time. 

It must have been only seconds but it felt like longer before he had grabbed hold of one thin, flailing arm and snaked another arm around the boy's chest. Hampered by his wet clothes and shoes, he still managed to kick his way back to the surface, pushing his smaller, lighter companion up before him. 

"This way!" someone shouted from the dock. 

Gasping, half-blinded, Bogg struck out thankfully trowards the voice. The boy, coughing and gagging, clung to him like a barnacle. And suddenly there were hands reaching down to pull them both out of the water. One pair prised the boy from Bogg's arms, Another grasped Bogg strongly by the elbow, helping him to haul himself onto the dock. Still breathless, incapable even of uttering thanks, Bogg flopped face down on the sun-warmed boards. He could hear voices raised all around him, heard someone mention the word "nurse," but further understanding was beyond him at that point. 

Then he heard a ragged, retching sob only a few feet away. The boy . . . with a supreme effort, Bogg raised himself onto all fours and crawled to where Jeffrey lay.

Because, of course, it was Jeffrey--with his dark curls plastered dripping to his head, his small form convulsing as he rid himself of the lake water he had swallowed. Bogg reached out, his arm moving as slowly as through syrup, and placed a hand on the small of the boy's back, rubbing as gently as he could.

"Gonna be okay, kid," he managed to croak, his own voice half-strangled and unrecognizable to his ears. "Gonna be okay."

**--xxx--**

"More coffee?" One of the camp counselors--she'd called herself Carol, Bogg remembered--stood over him with a steaming pot at the ready.

Swaddled in a blanket, Bogg gratefully held up his cup. "Thanks."

Carol poured a stream of hot dark liquid into the cup. "We should be thanking _you. _I don't know if any of us could have reached Jeffrey in time."

They were sitting in the nurse's office, just outside the infirmary where Jeffrey had been taken after his near-drowning. By the time the nurse had arrived on the scene, the boy had revived somewhat and been able to answer her questions, but she had immediately ordered him brought to the infirmary. Bogg had asked if he could come along and, after a moment's pause, the nurse had agreed, provided one of the counselors accompanied him. Carol, who was apparently in charge of Jeffrey's bunkhouse, had volunteered -- and here they were an hour later, waiting.

Bogg tried to shrug casually. "Just lucky I happened to be hiking in that direction."

"Well, _Jeffrey's_ very lucky, anyway." 

"He's gonna be okay, isn't he?" Bogg couldn't keep the anxiety from his voice or prevent himself from glancing at the connecting door to the infirmary. 

"Nurse Bridges says he'll be fine," Carol assured him. "But she called his parents to let them know what happened." She frowned a little and shook her head. "I don't know what got into him. He knows he can't swim yet, and it's not like him to be so careless."

Bogg glanced down into his cup before he could betray himself. "Maybe he--uh, slipped or something?"

"And hit his head on the dock?" Carol guessed. "Well, that would explain the lump on his head. And maybe a few other things," she added thoughtfully, after a moment.

"Other things?"

She shrugged, looking a little uncertain. "Once he was able to talk, he said -- someone pushed him?"

God. Bogg shivered and took another swallow of coffee to dissolve the chill in his stomach. 

"You didn't happen to see him go in, did you?" Carol asked, subjecting him to a searching look.

Bogg shook his head. "I just heard the splash and him crying out." And then saw the man responsible for Jeff's accident disappear into thin air, he added silently. But there was no way he could tell Carol that without sounding like a raving lunatic. His own position wasn't completely secure; one or two of the counselors had been slightly suspicious of his being on the scene in the first place. Fortunately, there was a neighboring campsite just a short distance away, and most of them had assumed Bogg had come from there. "Do you believe him, about being pushed?"

"I don't know," she replied. "He's not the kind of kid to make things up. But he did almost drown--and your imagination can really play tricks on you at a time like that."

Bogg made a noncommittal sound in response and put his coffee cup down on the table. "Could I--could I see him?" he asked. "I'd like to make sure he's okay, before I go." Risky though it might be to meet Jeffrey now, four years before their first official encounter, he found he could not just leave without looking in on him.

"I'll go ask Nurse," Carol promised and disappeared through the door that led to the infirmary.

Bogg exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. At least the counselors had lent him some clothes: a spare "Camp Hiawatha" t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Both were a little snug on him but at least they were warm and dry. And the flat, slip-on sandals--zoris, Carol had called them--came in handy too, though they were about a size too small. His own things were still drying over the back of a chair.

_Bat's breath, the Omni!_ Bogg rose quickly and made his way over to the chair, observing with relief that the device was still attached to the waistband of his jeans. Unhooking it, he flipped open the lid -- and stared in confusion at the still-blinking red light. What the -- ?

He had rescued Jeffrey from drowning. But was the kid still in danger? Bogg frowned, rubbing absently at his chin and wondering how he could manage to shadow Jeff at camp without arousing further suspicion.

Just then the connecting door opened again and Carol appeared. "Nurse says you can visit for a few minutes, but not to tire him out," she reported. "He's still a little woozy from that bang on the head."

"I won't stay too long," Bogg promised, flipping the Omni shut.

"How's your watch?" she asked. "I hope it was waterproof."

"It'll be fine." Bogg slipped the device into his shorts pocket and entered the infirmary, closing the door behind him.

**--xxx--**

Nurse Bridges was a woman of early middle age, who fixed Bogg with a stern gaze before directing him towards the bed, half concealed by a screen, at the far end of the room, 

"Not too long, now," she warned in a low voice. "He's supposed to be resting quietly."

Bogg nodded meekly and almost tip-toed towards his destination. The shadows lay thickest at this end of the room and the screen around the bed shut out the light even more. Edging carefully around the screen, Bogg sat down in the chair beside the bed, whose occupant lay silent and unmoving, a damp washcloth covering his eyes. 

Bogg felt his chest tighten in mingled love and rage. Seeing Jeffrey like this, when he should have been up and running around with all the other kids, was like a blow to the heart. For a moment, he did not trust himself to speak. He took a deep breath and then the words finally came. "Hey, kid," he said softly. 

The boy stirred at that and then turned his head toward Bogg's voice. "Is that you?" he asked, somewhat guardedly. His voice was higher-pitched than the one Bogg was used to but the intonation--slow and deliberate--was still recognizably Jeff's. "The guy who rescued me?"

"Yeah, it's me," Bogg assured him. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. How're you feeling?"

The boy's mouth compressed slightly. "Like I swallowed half the lake--and then threw it up."

Despite his worry, Bogg felt a smile tug at his mouth. Even at this age, the kid still had plenty to say for himself. "I'm sure it was only a quarter."

Jeffrey made a small sound between a laugh and a groan, but the groan won out. "My head aches, kinda." He reached up tentatively to touch the washcloth draped over the upper half of his face. "And the light hurts my eyes."

Bogg covered Jeffrey's hand with his own, noticed with a pang how much smaller the boy's was by comparison. How old was he now? Seven? Maybe eight? No, he'd be eight later this year. "Just leave it, okay? The nurse told you to rest quietly." He tried for a lighter tone. "Besides, I don't want to scare you with this ugly mug of mine."

"You _couldn't _be uglier than the guy who pushed me in the lake," Jeffrey said with conviction.

"You saw him?"

Jeffrey started to nod, winced, and then said, "Yeah. I didn't get a _good_ look--but I saw his reflection in the water, just before he hit me." He shivered, looking very small and frail. "He was all in black, and he had black hair and this real mean look on his face."

Bogg shivered too, remembering his own glimpse of that dark, sinister figure, standing there and cold-bloodedly watching a child drown.

Jeffrey seemed to mistake his silence for doubt because his voice rose in sudden defiance. "And I _didn't_ imagine it--no matter what Carol and everyone else thinks!" 

"Easy, kid, easy," Bogg soothed. "It's okay. I believe you. And I'm sure your folks will believe you too."

Jeffrey relaxed visibly at the mention of his parents. "Nurse Bridges said they'll be here by this evening." His tone grew wistful. "Maybe I can even go home with them? Camp's almost over anyway and I don't wanna stay here if that creep who pushed me is still around!"

"I'm sure that could be arranged," Bogg reassured him. "In fact, I think that sounds like a fine idea." Knowing Bill and Kathy, he suspected they would hustle their son out of harm's way at the first opportunity.

The boy sighed, relaxing a little more. Incredibly, one corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. "Mom wanted me to take swimming lessons this summer but there wasn't time before camp. Guess I'll be having them now, won't I?"

"Sounds like a plan." Bogg reached out and gently patted a slight shoulder. "Listen--I'd better go. Your nurse told me not to tire you out." He paused, all his past and present tenderness for Jeffrey welling up in him like a tide. "You take care now, okay?"

"Okay," Jeffrey agreed on another sigh. "And thanks, mister--for pulling me out . . . and for listening." The boy paused, and Bogg was almost certain he was frowning under the washcloth. "Hey, what should I call you, anyway?"

Bogg swallowed, fighting against temptation. "Finn," he said after a moment. "Just call me 'Finn.'"

"Thanks, Mr. Finn," the boy repeated drowsily. 

He was fading fast, Bogg noticed, his body sinking more deeply into the surrounding blankets. "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. "Just get some rest."

He sat where he was a few minutes longer, watching and listening as the boy's breathing assumed the steadier rhythms of sleep. Then, struck by a sudden thought, he retrieved the Omni and opened it. A green light shone up at him with a steady radiance.

_Well, whaddaya know. _Closing the device as quietly as possible, Bogg rose and slipped out of the infirmary.

**--xxx--**

His clothes were still wet so Carol gave him a plastic bag to put them in and told him he could return the borrowed things later. Bogg thanked her and then asked for the most direct route back to the other campsite. Might as well make his supposed back story convincing, after all.

Once outside, Bogg set off in the direction indicated but at an unhurried pace. Susan was nowhere in sight--he had no idea whether she would suddenly drop in or if she had chosen to arrive before him. Well, she could find him as long as he had the Omni -- provided the device hadn't suffered too much from its dip in the lake. Bogg didn't think it had -- the red and green lights had worked perfectly, after all.

He frowned suddenly. From red to green in just an hour--this had to be the shortest fix so far in his current assignment. But was that a good or a bad sign? The danger to Jeffrey seemed to increase each time, and now that Drake had demonstrated that he truly _was_ capable of murder . . . 

Bogg shivered, feeling anger bubble to the surface again. It had been bad enough when he had only suspected the rogue Voyager of being the culprit. But knowing what he had tried to do, actually catching him in the act -- was something else entirely.

Catching him. He_ hadn't _caught Drake yet, and that was an even bigger problem. Who knew where he had gone after this or what he might do there? According to Bogg's Omni, Drake had left 1978, but what if he did something different this time and doubled back to make another attempt? As it was, Bogg still wasn't sure just what he had done to bring about the current green light. Talked to Jeff? Let the boy confide in him about his near-drowning? Maybe encouraged him to go home from camp a few days early? The last seemed the most likely. If Jeff left with his folks, he'd avoid any further "accidents" at Camp Hiawatha.

For a moment, Bogg debated staying around to talk to Bill and Kathy about Jeffrey's close call. Then, regretfully, he abandoned the idea. Two chance encounters with the kid's parents might be believed, but three? There'd be bound to be some awkward questions this time, and besides, he couldn't risk changing history by telling them too much. Or by establishing contact with Jeffrey too soon. It had been sheer luck that the boy hadn't gotten a good look at his face this time--and that he'd been half-dazed from that blow on the head. Who knew how much he'd remember once he had recovered? Maybe he'd think he'd dreamed their whole conversation.

And it was probably safer that way, Bogg conceded reluctantly. Safer for all concerned.

"Phineas!"

Susan's voice. Bogg looked with relief towards the sound and saw her coming towards him on the path. Even in the middle of the wilderness, she managed to look chic, in snug jeans and a form-fitting t-shirt, her pale hair pulled back in a jaunty ponytail. Her eyebrows rose as she took in his own borrowed togs. "What happened to _you_?"

"Long story," Bogg sighed. "Is there someplace private we can go to talk?"

Susan nodded. "I Omnied in before you, just so I could set everything up. Chez Voyager, right through those trees."

"Lead the way. I'll fill you in on all the details."

**--xxx--**

"Chez Voyager" turned out to be a one-bedroom cabin located on the neighboring campsite. Accommodations were Spartan--two camp beds, a chair, and a dresser with a shaving mirror mounted over it--but Bogg was relieved to see them all the same.

"I brought extra clothes and some toiletries," Susan said, indicating the suitcase on the nearest camp bed. She paused, then added rather pointedly. "And I packed the HGT as well."

"Was that supposed to be a subtle hint?" 

"Wrong both times," she retorted crisply. "It wasn't a hint and it definitely wasn't subtle!"

"Susan--"

"Phineas." Her expression was implacable, but after a moment some softness crept into her eyes. "Jeffrey _has_ to be told now," she said. "You know that as well as I do."

Bogg dropped his gaze and stared at the floor.

Susan sighed. "I hate to do this, but -- if you won't tell him this time, _I_ will."

He looked up at that. "No!"

"Phineas, he almost died today! This is the closest call he's had yet in standard time, and I'm afraid it's only going to get worse from here."

"We don't know that yet!" Bogg protested feebly, but Susan was shaking her head.

"Time is running out--and Drake is getting desperate. If Jeffrey can tell us _anything_ at all, about what to look for in his life, we might _finally_ be able to get the upper hand--"

"All right!" Bogg broke in, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll talk to him. Just -- let me think about what I'm gonna say to him first. And maybe I could change my clothes too?" he suggested, somewhat acidly.

"I'll be outside if you need me," said Susan, and let herself out of the cabin.

Bogg took his time changing, trying not to think of the task that lay ahead. Still, it felt good to put on clothes that fit again: a plaid flannel shirt, blue jeans, clean socks and sturdy walking shoes. Susan had also packed a comb and a razor, so he was able to put the rest of his appearance to rights as well. 

Finally, he could delay the moment no longer. Donning the headset, he sat down on the lone chair, took a calming breath, and pointed the HGT towards the largest area of blank space he could find in such a small cabin.

Jeffrey's image appeared within seconds, sitting cross-legged on his bed in the infirmary. Irresistibly, Bogg flashed back to the boy's younger self, lying pale and quiet on another bed. For a moment, the two Jeffreys blurred in his mind until he hardly knew which one he was speaking to. "How ya doin', kid?"

"I'm okay." The slightly deeper voice brought him back to the present; it was the thirteen-year-old version he was dealing with now. "You?"

"Just fine," Bogg assured him, trying to sound nonchalant. "I landed in 1978, near Camp Hiawatha."

"Oh, _that_ place. Yeah, I spent a couple of summers there. So, what happened?"

Bogg hesitated. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Jeffrey seemed -- different. From being tense and anxious before, the boy now sounded oddly calm, even stoic. Was his composure a good sign, or not? "Well," he began slowly, "you--the younger you--had an accident." He paused but Jeffrey's expression had not changed. "You fell in the lake, but you couldn't swim. I had to dive in and fish you out."

The dark eyes widened slightly at that, but only for a moment. Still, it was enough to remind Bogg of how young Jeffrey was. Seven or thirteen -- either was too young to be the target of a murderer. All his protective instincts came flooding back. _I can't do this, I just can't . . . he doesn't belong in the middle of this ugliness_.

"I fell in the lake, you said?" Jeffrey repeated carefully.

Bogg cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh, that's what happened. But everything's gonna be okay and your folks are driving up to take you home with them, so no real harm done . . . " He stopped, realizing he was starting to babble, and quickly unhooked and held up his Omni. "Green light, see?'

"I see." Again that strangely calm tone. "So, everything's been taken care of? Just like in the last two time zones?"

"Well, yeah," Bogg said, surprised. 

"Everything all tied up in a bow. No loose ends or anything."

The older Voyager blinked, taken aback by the edge that had crept into the boy's voice. "You _want_ there to be loose ends, kid?" he inquired cautiously. 

The young face hardened, mouth tightening, dark eyes suddenly ablaze. "What I _want_," Jeffrey said with barely suppressed violence, "is for you to stop lying to me!"

"Jeffrey!" Feeling at once guilty and indignant over the accusation, Bogg tried one last bluff. "Look, kid, I don't know what's gotten into you, but--"

"How about taking a look at what _I've_ gotten into?" the boy countered and held up a hand to show the round silver object gleaming in his palm.

Bogg's protests died in his throat as he stared, dumbstruck, the image of the familiar engraved "V" seeming to burn itself into his brain. _No. Oh, no . . . _

"Tell me the truth," Jeffrey ordered, his face stony. "The _whole_ truth. Or I'm coming to find out for myself!"

TO BE CONTINUED


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Longer wait than anticipated for this one, I know, and I thank you for your patience. But this installment was pivotal and had to be done _exactly_ right. Hope readers will think it was worth the wait.

In this chapter, Jeffrey and Bogg clash over the secrets the latter's been keeping; later, Bogg makes a horrifying discovery.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART EIGHTEEN

Bogg found his voice again. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"From the Omni Development Lab. They had tons of 'em lying around, so they shouldn't miss_ one_ for a while."

"So that's what you've been up to--Grand Theft Omni? I thought _someone_ had taught you better than that."

"Sure, Bogg." Jeffrey's voice was cold, his dark eyes narrowed to hostile slits. "Tell me all about how swiping an Omni is worse than lying to your partner. To your family. You said that was what we were -- or was that a lie too?"

"I didn't lie!" Bogg defended himself. "I just -- didn't tell you everything," he concluded lamely.

It sounded feeble even to his ears. And to judge from Jeffrey's expression, the boy was completely unimpressed. _When he frowns, he looks just like Bill, _Kathy had said. But that wasn't all Jeffrey had inherited from his father. That level, penetrating stare to which he was now subjecting Bogg was Bill's as well.

"Phineas Bogg -- are we partners, or aren't we?"

The older Voyager swallowed, forcing himself to meet that unflinching gaze. He couldn't remember Jeffrey ever calling him by his full name before. Not like this, anyway. "We are," he insisted.

"Well, partners don't keep secrets from each other."

Bogg forced out a reply, harsh through his dry throat. "Partners don't put each other in danger, either."

Jeffrey's brow creased. "But I'm not in danger. I'm right here."

"At Voyager Headquarters," Bogg reminded him. "It's different in standard time. A _lot_ different."

The boy's face remained implacable. "You wanna explain that?" 

"Why can't you trust my judgment on this?" Bogg could not prevent a pleading note from creeping into his voice. "I'd do anything for you, kid -- you know that. Haven't you ever thought that I might be trying to protect you? To keep you safe?"

Jeffrey swallowed audibly. His expression had grown less bleak, and his eyes now held a suspiciously liquid shimmer but they remained fixed on his partner. "Bogg . . . my life fell apart before we even met. You couldn't protect me from that."

"Jeffrey -- if I could have . . . "

"Tell me. Please." A tear slipped down the boy's cheek; he brushed it away almost absently. "I'd rather know -- than _not_ know."

Bogg swallowed again. Ever since they'd first teamed up, whenever he saw Jeffrey in tears, he always had the irrational urge to drop to his knees and start babbling apologies, whether or not he was in any way responsible for the boy's distress. But apologies weren't enough now -- this time, only the truth would do. "It's not your folks, kid," he said at last, his voice rasping like a rusty file. "You were right--they don't have an enemy like that." He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. "But you and me . . . we do.

"It was Drake."

Jeffrey's face slowly drained of color, his hand tightening around the silver Omni. But his eyes were still fixed on the older Voyager.

Bogg continued doggedly, hating every word of his confession. "I didn't know at first, not until he dropped one of his cigars in your dad's basement. That's when I figured he probably tampered with the light switch. And shoved your mom into traffic on her way to Lincoln Center. And then, in London, I found out that he'd hired some petty crook to kidnap you when you were a baby. But this last time was the worst -- I actually _saw_ him on the dock at Camp Hiawatha. And not only that, you saw him too --just before he pushed you in the lake."

Jeffrey closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. His body was as taut as though braced for a blow. "Is he -- still there?"

"No. I saw him Omni out." Bogg put a hand to the back of his neck, easing muscles tight with strain. "And my Omni's green now. I don't think he's coming back here."

"He's after me." Jeffrey's voice was stark with the knowledge. "And he's willing to hurt my folks in the process."

"I'm afraid so," Bogg admitted, wondering if it were possible to feel worse. "Susan and I can't figure out where he's headed next."

Jeffrey took a breath, exhaled, and met his partner's eyes squarely. "_I_ know where he went. And _when_."

"Can you tell me?" Bogg asked, as gently as he could.

The boy's voice was little more than a whisper. "April 3, 1982." For a moment longer, his gaze locked with Bogg's. "Please . . . stop him."

The hologram winked out.

"Jeffrey!" Bogg stared at where the boy's image had been but he was gone. Hands shaking, the older Voyager almost clawed off the headset, dropped the HGT onto the floor, and then reached for his Omni. Flipping the device open, he grimly set the dials to the date Jeffrey had given him and hit the switch.

In the next moment he felt himself lifted bodily into the air and flung, helpless as a rag doll, into space.

The world went white.

**--xxx--**

The sound of voices brought him back to consciousness. He could not make out what those voices were saying but there was noise all around him--clinks and clatters that sounded strangely familiar.

Stifling a groan, Bogg opened his eyes -- and almost closed them again at the brightness before him. Eventually, however, his surroundings came into focus.

He was lying on the floor – of what seemed to be a restaurant. When he turned his head, he could see red leather booths, and a long counter around which several customers were seated. Women in brightly colored uniforms were hurrying to and fro, carrying trays, plates, and glasses. One woman was standing near what looked like the entrance, brandishing several menus. "Addams, party of six," she announced brightly and proceeded to lead a raggle-taggle group of people towards a vacant table.

Not a fancy restaurant, Bogg decided as he studied the clientele. More like a diner, maybe? He eased himself to a sitting position and looked around some more. Rather to his surprise, no one in the restaurant appeared to have noticed the strange man lying in the middle of the floor. The folks on the counter were eating and drinking undisturbed. Ditto for the customers in the booths. Mystified, Bogg stood up, automatically brushing down his clothes. Looking up, he saw a waitress bearing a full coffee pot coming directly towards him.

"Excuse me," Bogg began, but she neither halted nor changed direction at his greeting. Instead, she kept on going -- right through him and out the other side!

Bogg's jaw dropped. He had been braced for the scalding impact of hot coffee when they inevitably collided. But he had felt nothing, no more than the waitress clearly had. It was as if neither of them had had any substance. 

"Bat's breath!" The words emerged as a whisper, but Bogg had the sudden suspicion that no one would have heard him even if he'd shouted at the top of his lungs. Alarmed, he thumped his chest, which felt reassuringly solid, then reached up to touch his face. That too felt just as it should. But if _he_ was real and three-dimensional -- what did that make everything else? Frowning, he reached out to touch the nearest counter-stool . . . 

His hand passed right through it.

Bogg swallowed and forced himself to remain calm. There had to be some logical explanation for this. According to legend, only ghosts and spirits lacked substance--but he was sure, or almost sure, that he was neither. The Omni was still clasped in his right hand -- what would a ghost need an Omni for? Slightly reassured, Bogg glanced at the device and saw that he had indeed arrived at his destination: April 3, 1982. Or at least some _part_ of him had.

A thought occurred to him and he sniffed the air experimentally, just to be sure. Nothing. No smell of coffee, grease, or cooking food. Moreover, he suspected that if he tried to eat or drink anything--even supposing he could lift a fork--he would taste nothing either. He could see and hear, but the remaining senses--touch, smell, and taste--were denied him here.

For a moment, his mind remained blank, save for a small voice gibbering in panic somewhere in his head. Then, suddenly, he understood--and the realization made him weak in the knees for a moment, with mingled relief and anxiety. 

He wasn't a ghost. He was a hologram. 

That _had_ to be the explanation. In his haste to set the Omni and go to 1982, maybe he had done something to the HGT. Thinking back, he remembered dropping the transmitter on the cabin floor. Had he busted something--or maybe not turned it off properly? Susan could tell him, maybe, if she could find him. 

Uneasily, he wondered just where his body was, if his holographic image had managed to travel through time. Was it still back in 1978--or had it come forward to 1982? Or was it perhaps stuck somewhere in the middle?

With an effort, Bogg stifled his rising panic. Susan had access to a Voyager locator--no doubt she'd be able to track him down, once she'd discovered what had happened. The only question was: how long would it take?

In the meantime, here he was in 1982. The year Jeffrey had sent him to.

Jeffrey. Recalled to his purpose, Bogg scanned the crowd of customers in the diner. Everyone that he could see at the counter was a stranger, so he turned his attention to the people seated in the booths.

And then, over by the window, he saw them. Jones, party of three. A married couple -- and their eleven-year-old son.

Swallowing hard, Bogg wondered if he could move any closer. His arms and legs all seemed to function--so he took a cautious step forward, then continued somewhat gingerly towards the booth.

From the looks of their plates and cups, they appeared to be finishing up their meal. An older but still recognizable Bill and Kathy Jones sat together, he nursing a cup of black coffee, she idly stirring a straw through a half-empty glass of water. Seated across the table from them, Jeffrey was sneaking a glance at what looked like a comic book and ignoring the remains of his sandwich. To Bogg's observing eyes, mother and son looked more alike than ever, the sunlight limning their profiles and haloing their tousled dark curls.

Kathy traded an amused glance with her husband, then leaned forward and gently flicked the tip of her son's nose to get his attention. "No reading at the table,_ caro_. Finish your lunch."

"Okay, okay." Jeffrey sighed but obeyed, closing his comic book and reaching unenthusiastically for the last quarter of his sandwich. 

"You can read it later, champ, when we're on the road again," Bill promised.

Kathy rolled her eyes. "I don't know how the two of you do it. Every time I try to read in the car, I get sick to my stomach. Or a raging headache. Or both."

Bill grinned. "He's a Jones. Joneses can read anywhere." He turned to his son. "So, who is it this week, Jeff? Superman or Batman?"

"Spiderman," Jeffrey responded promptly. "I think he's the best!"

"Really?" Bill seemed to be giving the matter serious thought. "When I was your age, I always wanted to be able to fly and leap tall buildings like Superman."

"Superman's okay," Jeffrey conceded. "But he's like a god. Everything's so easy for him. And Batman's a millionaire, so he doesn't have to worry about ordinary stuff either." He leaned across the table, his dark eyes bright with enthusiasm. "But Spidey . . . he's got lots of everyday problems. That makes him more like _us_."

"A superhero who's more like us?" Bill sounded a little bemused by the concept.

Kathy chuckled. "Don't look at me, _caro_--I was a Fantastic Four girl myself!"

"They're pretty cool too," Jeffrey acknowledged. "And I like that Marvel heroes live in New York."

"Well, where else _would _they live, given the choice?" Kathy asked, smiling. "Jeffrey, if you're through eating, you should visit the restroom. This may be our last stop before the campsite and we've got a long drive ahead of us."

"Right." Jeffrey pushed away his empty plate, nodded to his parents, and scampered off.

Kathy leaned back against Bill's shoulder and stifled a yawn.

"Sleepy, sweetheart?" he asked solicitously.

"A little," she admitted. "You know I never sleep well the night before a trip."

He kissed the top of her head. "You can make up for it in the car then."

"What about you, _caro_? You've done all the driving so far. Are you going to be all right?"

"I've had two cups of black coffee," he said, smiling. "So I should be wired until midnight. But if I do get tired, I'll pull over to the side of the road and rest for a while."

"Good thinking." Kathy stifled another yawn. "I think I'll head off to the restroom too. Maybe I should splash some cold water on my face, while I'm there."

"I'll take care of the check," Bill promised.

**--xxx--**

Bogg continued to watch as Bill settled up accounts and then collected his wife and son. When the Jones family headed for the door, the Voyager followed at their heels. Like everyone else in the diner, they took no notice of his presence.

Outside the restaurant stood a small service station--four gas pumps and a garage. A mechanic in a greasy cap and overalls was just straightening up beside a large camper and wiping his hands on an oily rag.

"Everything okay?" Bill asked as he drew level with the man.

"Just fine," the mechanic mumbled, his voice barely audible. "You're good to go, mister."

Kathy and Jeffrey had already entered the camper, closing the doors behind them.

"Thanks," Bill said easily. "Hey . . . " he peered a little more closely at the mechanic. "Uh--where's Manny? I hoped I could have a word with him about my brakes before I left."

"Emergency. He got called away."

"Oh." Bill gnawed his lower lip, looking vaguely dissatisfied. "Well, it's probably nothing to worry about. I'll just be extra-careful on the drive. Thanks again," he added, before turning away and climbing into the driver's seat.

Moments later, the Jones' camper started up, cruising down the driveway to rejoin the main road. The watching mechanic lifted his head and a shaft of sunlight fell across his face, illuminating it at last.

Bogg caught his breath in horror, feeling his guts writhe like a nest of snakes.

The face beneath the oil-stained cap was unshaven and smeared with grease, but the malevolent dark eyes were all too familiar -- and so was the gloating smirk that spread slowly over the saturnine features as he gazed after the departing camper.

"Drake, you bastard!" Bogg spat, not caring that the rogue Voyager could not hear him. "What the hell have you done?"

TO BE CONTINUED


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Oy. First of all, my sincere apologies to everyone who's been waiting for this—if they still are and haven't given up in disgust. When I last posted an installment of this story, I never intended to let so much time pass before taking it up again. But Real Life, along with computer issues and other creative commitments, has a way of throwing a wrench into the best-laid plans. To those who have stuck it out, I thank you for your patience and I do promise to update more frequently. This story is heading into its home stretch—by far the darkest part—but since I've put these characters through hell, it's only fair that I should bring them out the other side and in as timely a manner as possible.

In the last installment, Jeffrey used a stolen Omni to get Bogg to come clean about the secrets he's been keeping. Realizing that Drake is trying to get through him through his parents, Jeffrey told Bogg to travel to April 3, 1982—the day of the fatal car accident. However, something went wrong and Bogg ended up in holograph form in 1982. But while he was there, he saw the Jones family—and a mysterious mechanic who may have tampered with the brakes of the camper: Drake!

Same disclaimers apply. 

PART NINETEEN

"Jeffrey!" Olivia called as she limped into the infirmary. Even with the new plexicast the medics had put on her ankle this morning, she moved more slowly than she had before her injury. Still, it was an improvement over her previous cast and she no longer needed a crutch. 

"Kid?" She had expected to find him sitting on the bed, reading his library book, but there was no sign of him. Alarmed, she moved further into the room, scanning the rows of empty beds. "Jeffrey, where are you?" she asked, anxiety lending an edge to her voice. "Kid, if you're pulling some kind of joke here, it's not funny--"

She broke off when she finally glimpsed a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, turned towards it, and felt her heart stutter to a momentary stop.

Jeffrey sat huddled on the floor between two beds, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his face white and shocky. Against the pallor, his eyes looked like burned-out holes; even his lips seemed to be without color. Not since Susan had broken the news of his inability to Voyage had he looked this bad.

"Jeffrey . . ." She limped towards him, almost trod upon a gleaming silver object lying on the floor less than a foot away from the boy. An Omni.

Olivia stared from the device to the boy and back again, swiftly drawing her own conclusions. But scoldings could wait, she thought as she scooped up the device and slipped it into her pants pocket. Right now the only thing that mattered was the traumatized child in front of her. 

Pulling a blanket from the nearest bed, she tucked it around Jeffrey and then lowered herself carefully to the floor beside him. 

"It's okay, kid." She spoke as soothingly as she could, putting an arm around the rigid shoulders and trying to draw him close. "It's gonna be okay . . ."

**--xxx--**

"Phineas! Phineas, wake up!"

Someone was hitting him, a series of light, stinging blows on both sides of his face. Groaning, he swam back up to consciousness, tried to raise his arm to fend off his attacker.

"Knock . . . knock it off," he managed to drag out, his voice sounding drunkenly slurred.

"Phineas," said Susan on a sigh of a relief, sitting back on her haunches as he opened his eyes. "I thought you were down for the count."

Bogg grunted, thought about trying to sit up, then abandoned the idea for the moment. His limbs felt like lead and his head swam dizzily. "What--what happened?" he asked thickly.

"As far as I can tell, mechanical failure," she replied. "The HGT was still on when you tried to Omni out--the frequencies interfered with each other. You need to be more careful," she added reproachfully. "You could have put both of them out of commission, not to mention yourself."

"Bats' breath!" Bogg struggled into a sitting position, felt sweat break across his forehead at the effort. "Where am I? _When_ am I?"

"The Adirondacks, 1980. Same place, different time." 

Bogg stared at his surroundings, noted the oddly familiar room and furnishings. "I'm still in the cabin?"

"Yeah, about two years later, after a paint job. My theory is that the HGT jammed the teleportation function of the Omni, so you were flung forward in time, but stayed in the same place."

"That's . . . not all that happened, I think," he said slowly. "Some part of me did go--where I was tryin' to go."

"What else can you remember?"

Bogg frowned, recalling noise, light, the clatter of plates, and the buzz of conversation. Patrons who could neither see nor hear him. Red leather booths and a kid's comic book . . . 

"Oh, God!" Memory struck with the force of a sledgehammer. "Jeff--I gotta get back there!"

"What happened?" Susan demanded as she helped him clamber to his feet.

As succinctly as possible, he filled her in on what he'd experienced as a hologram: his sighting of the Jones family--and the mechanic who had watched with such malicious satisfaction as their camper set off down the road.

"Drake?"

"Unless he's got an identical twin somewhere in time." Bogg flipped open the Omni, saw with relief that there was a green light in 1980, and began to turn the dials. "Bill was a little worried about his brakes. I didn't catch Drake doing anything to the camper, but that look on his face--he knew something bad was gonna happen."

"And he was probably more than happy to help it along."

"My thoughts exactly." Finishing with the coordinates, Bogg glanced at Susan. "I gotta go."

She nodded and stepped back. "Be careful, Phineas."

Bracing himself, he hit the switch and felt 1980 fall away.

**--xxx--**

The lights of the cosmos danced around him as he Voyaged but Bogg scarcely noticed. The picture in his mind's eye was by far more vivid: an overcast sky, a deserted beach washed by a thunderous sea, and a small figure huddled on a rock and staring at him with haunted dark eyes.

_"We were going camping up north. I was in the camper, reading some comics."_

The young voice was oddly flat, even emotionless--the voice of someone who had lived through the unendurable and was trying to put up every defense against living through it again. But in the next instant, bewilderment flickered across his face, crept into his voice.

_"I dunno--Dad must've fallen asleep, 'cause we ran off the road into some trees."_

He wouldn't have known, Bogg realized. He'd been in the camper with his comics, he wouldn't have seen the steering going haywire or the brakes failing. Bill had drunk two cups of coffee to stay awake and alert. Knowing the man as he now did, Bogg felt certain he would have pulled over on the road the very second he became drowsy or unable to focus. No way he'd have endangered Kathy and Jeff by driving when he was fatigued.

_"I was all right . . . but Mom and Dad got real smashed up."_

Bogg shuddered, chilled by more than the vast space of the cosmos. Had it been quick? Had they known what was happening? He imagined Bill frantically flooring the brakes in a vain effort to stop the camper's swerve off the main road, Kathy staring with panicked dark eyes, screaming their son's name as the trees loomed up before them . . .

Pray God it hadn't been like that. Let it at least have been too quick to hurt.

_"I tried to get them out, but there was this fire."_

Leaping flames enveloping the camper, a boy coughing and choking through the smoke, trying with all his child's strength to rouse and shift two injured adults, the most important people in his world.

_"I ran up to the road to try to get someone to help, but no one would stop."_

He caught his breath then, face crumpling as the pain of memory came flooding back through the cracks in his composure. And he sobbed the last words in an agony of self-reproach, breaking Bogg's heart along with his own. _"I couldn't get anyone to stop!"_

The portal flashed up in a blaze of white light, blinding Bogg as he soared through it--

And out the other side. 

He felt his feet touch solid ground for a split second, and then suddenly the earth was crumbling and he was falling. Slipping, at least, on his jeans-clad rear down a steep incline covered in rough growth--scraggly bushes and scrub. Thrashing about, he caught hold of some brush, managed to halt his descent, haul himself a little up the slope into a more secure position, and then looked down.

Trees--tall, thick-trunked, and, for any out-of-control vehicle, deadly. Bogg swallowed dryly and reached for his Omni. Upstate New York--April 3, 1982, with a red light blinking like a malevolent eye. 

Where did he begin? Was the Jones camper down there, or--his heart seemed to seize up at the idea--had it yet to make its fatal plunge? And Jeffrey . . . would he be uninjured and able to escape as he had before, or would he be lying unconscious on the camper floor as the flames crept up to _his_ body?

And then he heard it--the hum of an approaching engine, but too smooth, too light to belong to something as heavy as a camper. Approaching . . . slowing . . . stopping.

Except that no one had stopped. No one had heeded Jeff's calls for help.

Filled with sudden foreboding, Bogg scrambled awkwardly up the slope. His head cleared the top just as the driver's door of a sleek black limousine burst open--and a small figure ran towards the car, waving his arms wildly and crying out.

"Help! Please--help me!"

_Jeffrey_. Bogg pulled himself the rest of the way up the slope, struggled to his feet.

"My folks." Jeffrey's words came out in breathless, sobbing pants. "Down there. Fire. I tried, but I couldn't--please, mister, you gotta help them!"

"Show me where they are."

Bogg's blood chilled at the sound of that voice--cool and supercilious even in the face of a child's distress and terror. He did not need more than a glance at the immaculate figure in his trademark black, climbing from the car to follow Jeffrey to the top of the incline.

Relief was evident in every line of Jeffrey's slight frame. He turned trustingly towards the man who had come to rescue his parents, gesturing as he spoke. "Down there--through those trees! Please, we gotta hurry!"

"Kid, no!" Bogg shouted.

Startled, Jeffrey turned his smudged, tear-stained face towards the new voice. And Drake struck him, hard on the back of the head, with a dark object concealed in the palm of his hand.

Jeffrey crumpled without a sound. Drake met Bogg's horrified stare with a contemptuous smile--and deliberately pushed the boy down the slope. 

He fell in a loose sprawl of limbs, tumbling over and over through the brush, to lie at last like a broken doll at the bottom of the incline.

TO BE CONTINUED


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: They say it's darkest before the dawn. Well, this chapter is probably the darkest yet, and a reminder that history, fate, chance—whatever you choose to call it—can indeed be cruel. Warnings for violence and character deaths.

In the last installment, Olivia comforted a traumatized Jeffrey back at VHQ. Bogg returned to 1982, landing at the scene of the Jones' fatal accident. He was just in time to witness Drake arriving in the guise of a concerned motorist whom Jeffrey thinks is here to help rescue his parents, trapped in their burning camper. Bogg shouts out a warning, and Drake hits Jeffrey on the head and shoves the boy down an embankment.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART TWENTY

Time stretched like a rubber band, became nothing more than the sight of a boy falling endlessly through space, beyond reach, beyond help . . .

Then a hated voice, dripping with malicious glee, lanced through his head. "I win, Bogg. And you lose."

Time snapped--and the world went red.

Bogg felt rather than heard the snarl that tore itself from him as he launched himself at Drake. The rogue Voyager's smirk dissolved in a rasping crow as Bogg seized him by the throat. Face livid, Drake scrabbled at the larger man's hands, trying to break their grip, but he was forced inexorably to his knees.

Bogg grimly tightened his hold, squeezing until Drake's eyes looked ready to pop from their sockets. He was weakening now, his face congested, his arms dropping to his sides. And in Bogg's own brain, the blood was beating a fierce tattoo: _failed, failed, failed . . . _

Then he heard it, though he could not have said whether it was with his ears or his heart--a low moan and a barely audible cry.

"Help . . . please . . . help me."

Faint as it was, it penetrated the red haze in his brain, and sanity came trickling back.

He loved Jeffrey. And he hated Drake. There was no contest. Letting go of the other Voyager's throat, he threw him aside like so much garbage and hurtled down the slope to where the boy lay. He was dimly aware of Drake wheezing and gasping above him but beyond a brief flare of savage satisfaction, he had no attention to spare for anyone but Jeff.

_Please, God_, he prayed as he knelt beside the small, still form, _don't let it have been my imagination_. Mouth dry, heart racing, he picked up one limp hand, searched for a pulse--and felt the world right itself with a shudder at the thready beat beneath his fingers.

Alive. Still alive, although if he had lain here all night, he could well have succumbed to shock and exposure. Not to mention that nasty knock on his head.

"Another concussion, kid," he whispered, gently fingering the lump forming beneath the boy's dark curls. "Sorry about that . . . sorry about everything."

Irresistibly, he glanced towards the trees, saw with dread the plume of smoke rising in the distance. From where the Jones' camper undoubtedly lay--turned over on its side perhaps, like some mortally wounded beast.

Bill. Kathy.

Directives pounded in his head now, stern warnings in Professor Garth's voice, in his own. _"A Voyager cannot change history . . . "_

Their images rose in his mind. Kathy looking at him with Jeffrey's eyes, filling a stage with her voice and presence, Bill shaking his hand, sizing up and taking down a larger man with a few well-chosen words. He heard their laughter, saw them dancing, with their son balanced between them . . .

He couldn't. He just couldn't. History be damned, he had to _try_, for all their sakes.

With a last agonized glance at Jeff, he straightened up and set out for the trees at a flat run. The uneven ground threatened to trip him up at every stride but he kept going, hoping, hoping . . .

He had taken no more than half a dozen strides when the explosion ripped through the trees, the force of it literally knocking him off his feet.

Too late. Forever and always, too late.

Dazed and sick, Bogg crouched in the dirt, ears ringing, stomach churning. From a distance, he could hear the insatiable crackle of the flames, imagined them devouring and consuming.

_Failed, failed, failed ._ . .

Jeffrey. The thought was like a dash of cold water in his face, rousing him from his stupor. He _hadn't _failed--not completely. There was still something he could do--the most important thing of all.

Moving like an old man, he forced himself to rise and make his way back to Jeffrey's side. Still unconscious, mercifully so, though he gave a faint moan as Bogg slipped an arm beneath his body and lifted him from the ground. Once the boy was safely settled in his arms, Bogg tilted his head back and scanned the road above them.

Drake was gone. So was the limousine.

Keeping a firm hold on Jeffrey, Bogg began the laborious climb up the slope. Light as the boy usually was, the dead weight of him dragged at Bogg's arms as he struggled towards the top of the incline. Slinging him over the shoulder in a fireman's carry might have been easier, but Bogg didn't want to risk aggravating the head injury. Gritting his teeth, he soldiered on . . . not too far now, he could actually glimpse the surface of the main road.

"Phineas."

And suddenly Susan was there, a little above him, holding out her arms for Jeffrey. Too winded to speak, Bogg handed the boy up to her. She grasped him under the arms, pulling him to safety while Bogg hauled himself over the edge.

Still kneeling by Jeffrey, Susan reached out and grasped Bogg's forearm. "The others?" she asked, and there was a terrible urgency on her face.

Grief reared its head, threatened to crash down on him like a tidal wave. Forcing it back, he made himself look at her--and shook his head, just once.

Susan closed her eyes but not before he saw the sorrow in them. Her face was white as chalk. "_This_--is why I'm not in the field," she whispered through stiff lips.

Bogg had no comfort to give. Susan stayed as she was for a moment longer, crouching protectively over Jeffrey. Then she opened her eyes, her face wiped clean of all expression. "Come on. We need to get him to a hospital."

TO BE CONTINUED


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Another dark chapter as Bogg and Susan struggle to accept the aftermath of the Jones' accident. But duty calls and the mission may not be over yet. Minor spoilers for the pilot episode.

In the last installment, Bogg prevented Jeffrey from becoming a fatality in the auto accident that claimed his parents. But his inability to save the whole family continues to gnaw at him.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART TWENTY-ONE

Full circle.

Once again, he sat in a hospital waiting area, drinking lousy coffee and worrying about Jeffrey. But then he'd been wired, ready to jump out of his skin with anxiety. Now, he felt numb, his senses deadened by the events of the last few hours.

Susan had taken charge of everything--she'd Omnied them to a hospital in the same area, told a hasty but plausible story about them being hikers who'd discovered a road accident and a single survivor, and given the hospital personnel Jeffrey's name, claiming that he'd told it to them before losing consciousness. At any other time, Bogg might have felt guilty or at least embarrassed for not contributing more to their cover, but even through the fog enveloping his brain, he sensed that Susan needed to keep busy. That she was in no condition to dwell upon what had happened--any more than he was.

She came towards him now, still looking pale and drawn and nursing her own styrofoam cup of coffee. "They've brought Jeffrey back from the ER," she reported, sitting down beside him. "He's got a concussion and some cuts and scrapes--but they think he'll be all right."

_He's an orphan_, Bogg thought. _How can that be all right?_ But not wanting to upset Susan, he just nodded.

"And the staff is trying to contact his next-of-kin."

That would be his Aunt Elizabeth, Bogg remembered. The woman whom Kathy had described as not caring much for kids.

Kathy. The grief threatened to well up again, like a geyser, but he forced it back."Where is he now?"

"They've put him on the children's ward." Susan lifted the cup of coffee to her lips, then seemed to lose interest and set it down on the low table beside them. "Phineas--I have to go. Back to Headquarters, I mean. They'll be expecting a full report on this."

Bogg nodded dully. Wars might rage and empires might crumble, but paperwork was a constant. And Susan--by the look of her, she might even find a small measure of comfort in that routine right now. Or distraction, at the very least. He wondered what was going to distract _him_.

"Maybe you should come back too," she said.

"I can't leave Jeff."

"Phineas." Her voice was very gentle. "What does your Omni say?"

He had almost forgotten it was there. Unhooking the device from his belt, he flipped back the lid.

A green light had never looked more wrong. Two good people were dead, senselessly, leaving their only child in the guardianship of a woman who did not care for kids.

Glancing at Susan, Bogg saw the same feelings reflected in her eyes, then she looked away and down, schooling her face into impassivity. "His aunt will be here soon--and she doesn't know us from Adam. We probably shouldn't be caught hanging around here."

"But--" Bogg began automatically, then stopped as he realized that she was right. If they lingered here, the authorities would want to ask them more questions about the accident and how they'd just happened to be on the scene. Susan's cover story might not hold up indefinitely, so the most prudent course was to Omni out.

Of course, knowing that made it no easier to accept. Especially knowing that Jeffrey was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, destined to wake up to unimaginable pain.

Susan touched his arm. "It's not forever," she reminded him. "You're going to see him again soon."

Bogg stared down at the Omni, still open in his hand. "Yeah--about six months from now."

Six months before he was destined to blunder into Jeffrey's bedroom and turn the boy's life upside-down. The mistakes he was going to make . . . out of impatience, inexperience, and simply _not knowing _everything the kid had been through. The man he had been then--brash, brusque, and more than a little self-centered--seemed as remote to him as someone from another planet.

The man he was now knew and understood too much--and ached with the realization that there was nothing he could do, about any of it. Except leave, and let history take its course.

"I want to see him."

"Phineas--"

"Not for long," he broke in. "I know I can't stay. But I can't leave without looking in on him, one last time." Despite his efforts to remain calm, his voice roughened and broke on the last words.

"I--I understand." Susan's own voice was unsteady, her eyes suspiciously liquid. "I'll show you where the children's ward is."

**--xxx--**

They had put him in his own room, scarcely bigger than a cubicle but private, at least. Bogg waited until he saw the nurse who'd gone into Jeffrey's room come out again, then slipped down the corridor and let himself in.

"Hey, kid," he said softly to the unconscious form on the bed.

Jeffrey lay propped on pillows, his face nearly as white as the gauze bandage encircling his forehead. He had cut his left temple when Drake pushed him down the slope and the blood had trickled unnoticed into his hair. Bogg had nearly panicked when he first made the discovery, only to have Susan point out that scalp wounds always bled alarmingly. Against the pallor, the scratches on his face--another legacy of his downhill tumble--looked red and angry, even though Bogg was sure that they'd been cleaned and treated.

But all that was nothing, compared to what he would feel when he woke up. And discovered that the two people he loved most were gone forever.

Bogg swallowed, blinked his stinging eyes. "I have to go," he told his future partner. "But I couldn't without seeing you first. Without telling you--how sorry I am that this happened. To all of you.

"I wish I could stay, be here for you when you wake up, but that's not possible. It could screw everything up, and for your sake, I can't risk it. So all I can say for now is--hang on. Hang on, because I'm coming for you, as soon as I can. It won't be exactly the same. I won't know or understand the way I do now, and you'll have to be patient with me, 'cause I'm gonna say some pretty stupid things until I do." Bogg tried for a smile. "So I apologize in advance for being an insensitive jerk when we first met. But we got past it--and we'll get past it again.

"That's what partners do," he added softly. "And families . . ."

His voice caught on the last words. He swallowed again, then reached out and laid his hand lightly against the boy's cheek.

"Stay strong, kid. I love you."

Turning away before he could change his mind, he flipped open the Omni. The dials swam before his eyes, but he ignored them and hit the automatic switch instead, fleeing the grief he could not stay to solace.

1982 fell away in a blur of tears and stars.

TO BE CONTINUED


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Bogg and Jeffrey share a bittersweet reunion, which prompts Bogg to make a startling proposal. But as bad as things are, it's possible for them to be even worse. Minor spoilers for "The Trial of Phineas Bogg."

Same disclaimers apply.

PART TWENTY-TWO

The distinct smell of antiseptic washed over Bogg as he stepped through the portal. Another hospital? he wondered, feeling his heart sink even further. After what he had seen, he didn't know if he could handle another.

Then his eyes adjusted to the light and he recognized the corridors of the VHQ medical wing. And just down the passage, he remembered, was the infirmary.

Jeffrey. 

Longing and dread warred in his heart. Not once in their partnership had he ever run from the boy--only after him and towards him. But now, for the first time, he had to struggle against the urge to flee, away from his failure and the heartache it would bring.

Finally, he forced himself to take that first step towards the infirmary, then the next. His feet seemed to grow heavier with every tread, but at last he reached his destination. For a moment longer, he lingered outside the door, then, before he could reconsider, ducked inside.

To his amazement, the room appeared to be empty: all the beds he could see were made up and uninhabited. A cold lump of fear was starting to form in his stomach, when he heard someone call his name.

"Phineas." Olivia's voice was low-pitched, almost a murmur. It also seemed to be coming from a direction he couldn't identify yet.

"Down here." 

Bogg glanced down and saw them at last, sitting on the floor--Olivia with her arm around a white-faced Jeffrey, whose dark eyes stared unseeingly before him. 

"Hey." Olivia stroked the boy's curls. "Look who's here, Jeffrey." 

He turned his head and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. His lips shaped a word, though no sound emerged.

Bogg swallowed. "Yeah, kid, it's me." Coming forward, he knelt in front of the boy, just within touching distance. Olivia levered herself up from the floor to make room for him. 

"I figured--you'd want to know what happened," Bogg continued, holding the dark gaze with his own. "You were right, kid. Drake came after you, in 1982."

Jeffrey exhaled, the barest hint of escaping breath. But his eyes were still full of questions.

"He was there--at the crash site. Came driving by in a fancy car. You--eleven-year-old you--ran up to him and he stopped. You thought he was there to help, to get your parents out. Instead, he hit you on the head, pushed you downhill." He paused, swallowing again. "I thought he'd killed you."

The image rose in his mind once more, sharp and terrible. He pushed it back and made himself go on. "I nearly killed _him_, but then I heard you calling out for help. You were hurt, barely conscious--we had to get you to a hospital."

More images crowded into his mind--of everything he wasn't telling the boy. The rising column of smoke, the earth-shaking explosion, the ravenous flames . . . 

"My folks . . . "

Jeffrey's anguished whisper was scarcely audible but Bogg felt it in his soul like a scream. He shook his head, as much to banish the memories as to confirm the unspeakable tragedy. 

"I tried." The words forced themselves from a painfully constricted throat. "I couldn't--it happened so fast--" Control was splintering, into sharp, knife-edged fragments, and he heard his voice cracking, breaking, along with it. "I'm sorry, Jeff. I'm so sorry . . . "

A thin arm wound itself around his neck, a tear-wet cheek pressed against his, and he let go even as he held on to the boy for dear life.

Together they wept for Bill and Kathy Jones, and everything that had been lost that day in 1982.

**--xxx--**

Lifting Jeffrey from the floor, Bogg laid him down on the nearest bed. Sunk in exhausted slumber, the boy barely stirred. 

Head bowed, Bogg stood over him, memorizing every feature of his sleeping face: Kathy's eyes and nose, Bill's determined chin, those wild dark curls. So young--too young--to have known such sorrow.

_"Sonno bene, bambino mio,"_ he whispered, brushing his fingers against one pale cheek.

Turning blindly away, he almost walked into Olivia, who had come quietly up behind him.

"Phineas." Her voice held only compassion. Then, to Bogg's amazement, she simply put her arms around him and held him close, as if he were no older than Jeffrey. Bogg surprised himself even more by closing his eyes and relaxing into her embrace.

Nothing sexual, or even romantic, about this contact, and yet it warmed him all the way down to the soul. Gave him strength for what he had to do next. 

He stood a while longer in the circle of her arms, then he straightened up and stepped back. "I--I gotta go down to Control," he said, his voice still raspy from recent tears.

She nodded, her arms dropping back to her sides. "I guess they'll want their report, won't they?" Her wry expression reflected the field worker's typical distaste for paperwork, and Bogg almost smiled.

"Yeah. Bureaucracy--what're ya gonna do?" he said, trying to keep it light. "Will you stay here, with him?" He nodded towards the bed.

"You don't even have to ask."

Bogg exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Liv. For everything," he added, as he turned to go.

"Anytime."

**--xxx--**

"I want to go back," he said starkly, standing in the middle of Mission Control. "I have to fix this."

"Phineas . . ." Susan, still looking pale and drained, came out from behind Bryce's console. "You know that's impossible--"

"It doesn't have to be. I can save them. Omni in _before_ the accident, make Bill check his brakes--"

"What about Jeffrey's future as a Voyager?"

"Do you think he cares about that now?" Bogg demanded. "I could give him all of time on a string, and it wouldn't make up for what he's lost!"

Her lips trembled. "Of course he'd feel that way. But remember what Professor Garth told you--"

"Professor Garth said that history wouldn't change if Jeff's parents were spared--"

"Based on evidence Drake gave him, evidence that we now know was false!" she countered.

"Whose side are you on?" Bogg snapped, and immediately felt like a monster when he saw her eyes fill.

But when she spoke again, her voice was calm. "On Jeffrey's, I hope. Phineas . . ." She touched his arm. "Don't you think _I've _considered this too? That there might be some way to save Bill and Kathy?"

"Then why can't we--"

"Because, as cruel as this future is, the alternatives are even worse!"

"How can you know that?"

"Probability Scan." Bryce spoke up for the first time.

Bogg wheeled around to stare at him. "What?"

"Susan asked me to input data and generate the most probable outcomes of the Jones family all surviving the camper fire," the tech explained.

"And?" 

Bryce sighed and rubbed his eyes behind their steel-rimmed specs. "You're not going to like this," he warned.

"Try me," Bogg said curtly.

Bryce sighed again and tapped out a sequence on his keyboard. "Run program," he said, straightening in his chair. 

Five of the large display screens in the Control Center suddenly lit up, and large black type--like magnified newspaper headlines--began to scroll across each one:

**Boy, 14, Disappears on Way to School**

**Mother, Son, Shot in Convenience Store Robbery**

**4 Students Killed on Senior Class Trip**

**College Professor, Family, Die in Small Plane Crash**

**Gas Leak Kills Family of 3**

Bogg watched in sick fascination as smaller type succeeded the headlines, providing further details of each tragedy. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he looked away.

In all five projected futures, Jeffrey died with or instead of his parents. There was no other outcome.

TO BE CONTINUED


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: In the last installment, Bogg returned to VHQ and was reunited with Jeffrey. But his lingering grief over the Jones tragedy led him to make a startling proposal. Unfortunately, some things can't be fixed—and now he has another painful decision to make.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART TWENTY-THREE

Mission Control had fallen eerily silent, save for the faint hum of type as it continued to scroll up the display screens. But none of the three people occupying the lab was reading it or could stand to.

"Any chance that these could be wrong?" Bogg asked, with more desperation than hope. He kept his back to the screens, as if not seeing them could make them and their contents disappear. "That there's some _other_ possible future for Jeff?"

"The program generated the five most likely outcomes of our projected scenario. The odds of there being a sixth viable future with a different result are point-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one," Bryce reported. "Rounded up to the nearest millionth."

A million to one odds. Not good any way you looked at it, Bogg thought bleakly.

Susan rubbed the back of her neck as if it ached. "If Jeffrey returns to his existence in Standard Time, the danger to him increases exponentially."

Math had never been Bogg's strong suit, but the term "exponentially" made his blood run cold. "What about Drake? Is _he_ responsible for all these?" he asked, gesturing towards the screens behind him.

"He could be. Bryce ran the projections for that too: there's a more than 80 per cent chance that he's behind at least three of these attempts. But even if we try to stop him every time . . ." Susan paused, her eyes full of shadows. "Phineas--I think you know as well as I do that he's going to keep at it until he succeeds."

"Until he gets Jeff, you mean."

"Yes."

There was a world of desolation in that lone syllable. Bogg lowered his head and stared at the floor.

"Phineas . . . I know this isn't easy to hear or accept but -- ever since Jeffrey's been with you, he's been safe. Safer than he would have been in his own time."

"Safe?" Bogg echoed incredulously. "In the last two years, he's been shot at, kidnapped, nearly blown up, burned to death, frozen, suffocated, drowned, and bitten by a mad dog, and that doesn't even cover the landings--"

"And he's survived. Largely because of you. Because you've been there protecting and looking out for him." She reached out again, tentatively, and laid a hand on his arm. "For the past two years, you've given Jeffrey your love and care--would you call that 'nothing'? _I_ wouldn't, and," she took a deep breath before continuing, "I don't think _they_ would either."

There was no need to ask whom she meant. Just as there was no need for Bogg to wonder what "they" would have wanted. Because he already knew, as surely as if Bill and Kathy had told him themselves. If it came down to a choice between their lives and their son's . . . 

"I want to go back," he said again.

Susan's face clouded. "Phineas, don't you understand--"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. More than you know. But there's something you need to understand too." He took a fortifying breath of his own. "I need to go back--so I can talk to them."

**--xxx--**

_July 13, 1983_

The summer heat lay in a haze over the cemetery, making the suit and tie he wore even more uncomfortable, but Bogg made himself ignore it as he walked toward the plot where they lay.

Today would have been their fifteenth wedding anniversary. He'd chosen the date on purpose: the thought of attending the funeral had been too painful and, more importantly, he wasn't sure he could have resisted the temptation to snatch Jeffrey up and Omni away with him, six months ahead of schedule.

Their headstones were up, looking almost obscenely new and pristine, and the inscriptions stood out in sharp relief against the dark grey stone. William Stephen and Katerina Beatrice Jones, their birth and death dates, and the simple phrase "Beloved Parents." Bogg wondered if Jeffrey had had any say in the epitaph and hoped that had been the case.

Kneeling, he laid the flowers he carried upon each grave: a white rose for Bill, a red rose for Kathy--like the one she'd worn in her hair that night at Aldo's. Then he sat back on his heels, feeling in some obscure way as if he was waiting for something, though he couldn't have said what.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said tentatively, "Hi, guys--it's me.

"Bet I'm probably the last person you expected to come here. Or--maybe not," he added. "If there really is a . . . a life after death, then you already know all the things I couldn't tell you before. That I'm a Voyager--and I'm taking care of Jeffrey. I--hope you don't have a problem with that."

He paused, but no lightning bolt came arcing out of the blue at this confession and no rumble of thunder rent the sultry air. Encouraged but still cautious, he continued, "What happened to you wasn't fair or right. You should have had ages together. You should have had the chance to watch him grow up, marry, have kids of his own. Instead, you were all robbed of that, and I'm gonna make sure that the person responsible pays--if not today, then someday."

He paused again, this time to suppress the anger that stirred in him at the memory "But that's about me. I know that retribution doesn't matter to you. I know that your son was the most important thing to both of you, the only thing you'd worry about, wherever you are.

"I can never take your place. You were great parents who raised a great kid. I think he's got the best of both of you in him, but he's his own person too. And . . . I couldn't love him more if he was mine."

Something loosened and warmed inside of him at the admission. It had taken him a long time to say those words aloud--the first time, he'd blurted them out unthinkingly, at his trial--but it seemed to get easier with practice. And perhaps that, more than anything else, might reconcile Bill and Kathy to their son's being in his guardianship.

Bogg reached out, tentatively traced the inscription on her headstone. "Maybe the life we lead isn't the one you'd choose for him--it's not even the life _I_ chose for him at one point, but Jeff had other ideas. Being a Voyager's not always comfortable or safe, and I know he's missing out on a lot of normal experiences that other kids have--but I can promise you that I'll always do my best to take care of him. And that I'll always love him. I'll love him enough for all of us."

He sat there a while longer, in the drowsy warmth and stillness. No sign that he'd been heard . . . unless the strange sense of peace that eventually stole over him could be counted as such. After some reflection, Bogg thought that perhaps it could.

Rising to his feet, he brushed the grass from his trousers and reached for his Omni. Time to go back, to where his--their--kid was waiting for him. 

TO BE CONTINUED


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Last time, Bogg was forced to accept what he couldn't change and had a last heart-to-heart talk with Jeffrey's parents. Now he returns to VHQ, just in time to make some unsettling discoveries about Jeffrey himself. 

Same disclaimers apply.

PART TWENTY-FOUR

When he stepped out of the portal again, it was to find himself among the almost-comforting sights and sounds of Mission Control. The dimly lit room, the whirring, clicking machines . . . and Susan and Bryce watching him somberly from behind Bryce's console.

"Phineas." Susan came forward somewhat hesitantly. "Is everything . . . are you all right?"

Despite their recent clash, Bogg found that he did not want to fight with her anymore. No one had come through this unscathed: Jeffrey had lost his parents all over again, Susan had lost two friends. As Bogg himself had. 

"I will be," he said at last. And he thought that might actually be true, in time. But first, there was something--and someone--of vital importance to deal with. "Jeff still in the infirmary?"

Bryce and Susan exchanged a glance that made Bogg's scalp prickle uneasily. "What?" he demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Actually, Phineas," Susan began, "Jeffrey . . . Jeffrey was here, just a little while ago."

"Here, in Mission Control? What for?"

"He came looking for you--"

"And for answers," Bryce said unexpectedly. He hesitated, then looked Bogg straight in the eye. "I gave them to him."

"You did what?" Bogg rounded on the tech.

Bryce hunched a defensive shoulder. "He wanted to know what was going on. So--I ran the Probability Projection Program for him."

Bogg strode to the console, fighting the urge to wring Bryce's skinny neck. "You _showed_ him what would happen, if his folks survived the accident?" he asked incredulously, his voice rising to a near shout. "What the hell were you thinking?"

To his credit, Bryce didn't so much as flinch. "I was thinking he'd want to know the truth--"

"About all the ways he could die if he goes back to his own time? You dumped all that on a thirteen-year-old kid?"

"He _asked_ me to!" Bryce's pale eyes flashed behind his glasses. "That 'thirteen year-old kid' is as smart as they come. Maybe _you_ should stop underestimating him!" he added, jabbing an accusatory finger at Bogg's chest.

Seeing red, Bogg reached out and hauled Bryce up by the collar. "Why, you arrogant little--"

"Phineas!" Suddenly Susan was there between them. "Let go of him!"

The sharpness in her voice as much as her hands shoving at his chest cut through the rage. Biting back a snarl, Bogg released his hold on Bryce, who wrenched himself free with a snarl of his own. Eyes glaring, hands fisting, they sized each other up as if preparing to take the first punch.

"That's enough," Susan commanded, "from both of you."

Bogg gulped air, made himself count to ten, and then turned an accusing eye on her. "You let him do this?"

Susan sighed. "I was out of the room for a few minutes. When I came back, Bryce was already running the program for Jeffrey."

"And you didn't stop it?" Panic was riding along with the temper now.

"Phineas . . . " She paused, then made herself continue. "Bryce is telling the truth: Jeffrey _did_ ask him for this."

Bogg swallowed dryly. "How--how did he take it?"

"Very quietly. He just--looked at all the screens, asked some questions . . . and then he left. Olivia was with him."

Olivia. Bogg exhaled, feeling a slight stirring of relief. Well, that was something--at least Jeffrey wasn't alone right now. "Any idea where they went?"

"No, but I don't think it was back to the infirmary."

"Try the lake," Bryce said suddenly. "It's a good place to go and think."

Bogg managed a stiff nod, fighting down his residual anger at the tech. "That's--a good idea," he conceded grudgingly, as he turned away. "I'll go there first." 

"Voyager Bogg!" Bryce's voice caught him three strides from the door.

Still more than a little hostile, Bogg looked back over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

Bryce's flush was visible even in the shadows. "Sorry if I overstepped. I was trying to help Jones, that's all."

Bogg managed a stiff nod. "Apology accepted."

Bryce took a deep breath. "It's just that--I don't think he needs protection. Not as much as he needs someone to be straight with him. Like you."

Bogg sighed, feeling most of his anger draining away. "I'll keep that in mind."

**--xxx--**

In the late afternoon sun, the water was the color of amber, its placid surface wrinkled by a light breeze and the circling course of the ducks. Scanning the area, Bogg exhaled in a silent huff of relief when he saw the boy sitting on the bank and the tall blonde standing beside him.

Squaring his shoulders, he strode towards them. Olivia saw him first and stooped to nudge Jeffrey, who looked up at once.

"Bogg!" Scrambling to his feet, the boy ran towards the older Voyager, skidding to a halt when they were just inches apart and looking up with searching dark eyes.

Bogg swallowed, knelt, and held out his arms, feeling his heart roll over in his chest when Jeffrey threw himself into them without hesitation.

Olivia, following at a slower pace, smiled down at them both. "Looks like you two have a lot to talk about, so I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks," Bogg said to her over Jeffrey's head. "See ya?"

"See ya," she confirmed, then limped past them and back towards the Academy buildings.

Jeffrey stood for a few more seconds in the circle of Bogg's arms, then pulled away a little to give his partner the once-over. "Hey, where d'you get the suit?" His voice sounded almost normal.

"Same place I got the rest of my clothes." Bogg stood up, brushing off the knees of his trousers. "Like it?"

Jeffrey tipped his head to one side. "I dunno. It makes you look real serious. Kinda like a lawyer--or maybe an undertaker."

His tone was light but Bogg could hear the strain behind it. After almost two years, he thought he'd gotten pretty good at reading the kid's moods, and right now Jeffrey's façade was as brittle as an eggshell. On the other hand, the fact that he could summon up any kind of façade at all, after what he'd been through, might be seen as an encouraging sign.

"Listen," Bogg laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."

Jeffrey nodded in acknowledgment, then leaned a little into his hand. "Susan said you had something to wrap up--in my timeline."

"Yeah, I did." Bogg paused, unsure whether to continue, then remembered Bryce's words about Jeff needing someone to be straight with him. "I needed to talk to your folks."

Jeffrey caught his breath. "You mean--?"

"I went to the cemetery."

"Oh." The boy exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. 

Bogg slid an arm more closely around him. "I'm sorry. That wouldn't have been my first choice either. But it's the only way I could've told them--about us." He hesitated again, then made himself go on. "And I'm even sorrier that I didn't make it back before you came looking for me at Control."

Jeffrey looked up at him swiftly. "Bryce and Susan told you--about the Probability Scan?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they did." Bogg gave the boy's shoulder a tight squeeze. "And I'm sorry, so sorry, that you found out about it like that--"

"I'd have had to find out about it anyway, eventually." The words were stoically, even bravely spoken, but Bogg caught the faint quiver of Jeffrey's lips before the boy looked down at the ground. "I knew--I guess I always knew--that I could never go home again." He swallowed, glanced up again, and Bogg saw the glint of tears in his eyes: the first crack in his composure. "They _died_ for me, Bogg. My folks--for me and because of me . . . "

"No!" Bogg knelt again, taking a firm hold of Jeffrey's shoulders. "That's not on you, kid! It never was." 

"But if I hadn't--"

"What, existed?" Bogg gave the shoulders he held a small bracing shake. "You're here because two good people fell in love, got married, and started a family. What happened later wasn't your fault--or Bill's or Kathy's. If anyone's to blame, it's Drake--and only Drake!"

Jeffrey sleeved his eyes clear and blinked at him in confusion. "O-only?"

Bogg sighed, realizing that there was still more left to confess, and quickly related the details of how he had first spotted Drake disguised as a service station mechanic in 1982. "I didn't catch him red-handed that time, so I don't know if he actually _did_ anything to your dad's camper," he concluded. "Maybe he just saw that something was going to go wrong and did nothing to stop it. It's--it's a grey area."

Jeffrey had gone white to the lips. Abruptly, he jerked himself out of Bogg's embrace and turned away, breaking into a near-run along the shore. 

"Jeffrey!" Bogg set out immediately after him, lengthening his stride until he drew level with the boy.

"I'm gonna kill him, Bogg." Jeffrey's voice was low and choked with fury. "Wherever he is, wherever he's gone, I'm gonna find him--and then I'm gonna take him apart!"

"Get in line!" Bogg said sharply, catching Jeffrey by one arm and instinctively dodging the swing from the other. 

"Let me go!"

Bogg grabbed his free arm. "Not until you calm down." Deciding that the suit was a lost cause, he knelt again upon the damp ground. "I'm not saying you don't have a right to feel this way, to want Drake gone--"

Dark eyes blazed up at him like twin pyres. "I want him _dead_!"

Passion, fire, temper . . . Kathy's legacy. Bogg stifled a sigh and made himself speak calmly, still keeping a firm hold of the boy. "We'll catch him someday, kid--and he'll be punished the way he should be. But do you think this is what your parents would want? For you to throw your life away trying to get revenge? Or put yourself in danger chasing after him through time? They loved you too much to want you pursuing some kind of vendetta--even for them." He gave Jeffrey another little shake. "And _I_ love you too much to let you do that either."

For a moment longer, Jeffrey quivered under Bogg's restraining hands, then he gave way, collapsing in his partner's arms with a sob that was half-pain, half-rage. The older Voyager held on tight and waited for the storm to pass.

**--xxx--**

"I was mad at him. At my Dad." Jeffrey shook his head. "How wrong is that?"

Bogg sighed, stretching out on the grass beside his partner. "Kid, you were hurting--and feeling the way everyone does when they lose someone they love. Scared, abandoned, angry . . ."

"Yeah, but I blamed him, Bogg. Even though I tried not to, I kept thinking: why didn't he just pull over when he was tired? If he'd done that, everything would've been different. And now," he looked up at Bogg with troubled eyes, "you're saying that's not what happened? That he didn't fall asleep at the wheel like everyone thought? That it really was all Drake and what he did--or didn't do--to our camper?"

"Your dad drank two cups of black coffee to help him stay awake on the road," Bogg replied. "And he promised your mom that he'd stop driving at the first sign of fatigue. Bill Jones didn't seem like the kind of guy to take stupid chances, especially not with the people he loved."

"No. No, he wasn't." Jeffrey looked down at the grass. "I should've thought of that before."

"Hey." Bogg gripped his shoulder. "Why don't you try cutting yourself some slack? You just believed what everyone else believed, even the people who investigated the crash."

"My aunt said . . . there was hardly enough of the camper left to tell us anything. And Tom," Jeffrey's voice thickened with disgust, "Tom thought we should get a lawyer and sue the pants off the car dealer. He said so right in front of everybody, at the funeral."

Tom, Bogg gathered, had been Elizabeth Jones's boyfriend. "Jerk."

"Yeah."

They fell silent, gazing out across the lake. The storm had passed, Bogg thought, but it had left them both feeling exhausted and fragile. He knew Jeffrey was still hurting--as he was himself. But maybe together they hurt a little bit less.

"I miss them." 

Bogg looked up right away at that. "I know, kid."

Jeffrey swallowed. "Even if I don't--dream about them so much anymore or think about them all the time."

"I don't think they'd expect you to--not all the time."

"It's been real hard, Bogg," the boy confessed. "Me being here and knowing you were there--with _them_." He swallowed again, blinked. "Sometimes . . . I couldn't help feeling jealous, of all of you, because you were together."

"Kid, in your place, I'd have been eating my heart out."

"And maybe it's worse because--I don't remember them as clearly as I used to." The boy's eyes were shadowed again. "I told Olivia, it was getting so I couldn't picture my dad's face or hear my mom's laugh anymore." He plucked miserably at the grass beneath him. "How can you love your folks so much and still forget things about them?"

Bogg put an arm around Jeffrey and pulled him close. "If you're afraid of forgetting, ask me," he said, resting his cheek against the tousled dark curls. "Maybe I didn't know your folks for very long--but I know I'll never forget 'em. Because I've got a living, breathing reminder of them, right in front of me. You." He pulled back a little to study the boy. "You're the image of your mom. I noticed that the moment I met her."

"Yeah, but I don't have any of her talent," Jeffrey said wistfully. "She could sing opera--I can barely carry a tune in a bucket."

"You've got her fighting spirit--and her heart. Her way of reaching out to people. I'd say that was more important than being able to hit a high C. And you've got your dad's love of history and you tackle problems the same way he did." Bogg gently tapped the boy's temple. "With what's up here.

"I told them that you had the best of both of them. So, you won't lose them, Jeff. You won't ever lose them, because they live in you."

Eyes brimming over, Jeffrey turned suddenly and buried his face in Bogg's shoulder. But this time, when the tears came, they were tears of healing.

TO BE CONTINUED


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Last time. Bogg shared all of his Drake-related discoveries with Jeffrey, and the two of them made a painful peace with what had happened in 1982. In this installment, Jeffrey takes his first step towards being an active Voyager again, while Professor Garth breaks some startling news to Bogg, Susan, and Olivia.

Same disclaimers apply.

PART TWENTY-FIVE

Throughout his career as a Voyager, Bogg had witnessed bloody battles, agonizing sieges, and all manner of hair-raising natural disasters. But nothing set his nerves on edge like sitting in Mission Control, watching as Jeffrey prepared to make his first solo Voyage since his standard timeline had been stabilized and the first safeguards around it set in place.

Every eventuality had been prepared for, Bryce and Beckett had assured him. Jeffrey had, in fact, been decked out with every retrieving device Research and Development had managed to come up with in the last few years.

"I'm carrying around more metal than Marley's ghost," the boy had told him earlier, with a crooked little smile.

"Who?" 

"Never mind." Sighing, Jeffrey had taken his place in the chalk circle as Bogg had done several days before. He stood there now, fidgeting only slightly as the techs made their final adjustments to the launching program.

Bogg swallowed a lump in his throat that felt roughly the size of a golfball. The worst part was that this time he would not be permitted to accompany Jeffrey.

"We need to be sure that it's _his_ coordinates we're picking up, not yours," Susan had explained apologetically. "But try not to worry, Phineas. We've got everything under control and if there's any sign of temporal distortion once he Omnies in, we'll pull him back right away."

Bogg had stifled his protests then, recognizing them as the knee-jerk reactions they were. Still, panic lay coiled under his surface calm like a rattler waiting to strike.

Olivia, standing beside him, reached out and gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. Bogg managed a tight smile of response for her, then made the effort to send a wider one to Jeffrey who had glanced anxiously in his direction.

"I'll be okay," the boy mouthed at him silently and Bogg nodded acknowledgement, not wanting to communicate his fears to his partner.

"Jeffrey." Susan approached the younger Voyager. "We're almost ready. Remember," she added with a sideways glance at Bogg, "don't turn on your HGT until you've Omnied in. And turn it off before we bring you back."

"Okay."

"Ready!" Beckett called from behind the central processing unit. "Lock?"

"Lock," Bryce confirmed from his console. Looking up, he gave Jeffrey a nod and a thumbs-up. "You're good to go, Jones. Anytime you're ready."

Jeffrey nodded. "Here I go. See ya soon, Bogg," he added, raising his hand with the bright silver Omni clutched within his palm.

"See ya soon," Bogg echoed, feeling his stomach tie itself in knots as Jeffrey hit the switch and disappeared.

The seconds passed with agonizing slowness, then Bryce called out triumphantly, "We've got him!"

The whole room seemed to exhale along with Bogg. "Where is he?"

"Northwest Territory, 1866," Bryce reported. "Where Seattle, Washington's going to be someday. Green zone."

"Thank goodness for that," Susan said with a sigh. "Phineas, you can turn on your HGT now."

Relief made his fingers clumsy, but Olivia helped him don the headset while he adjusted the settings to correspond with Jeffrey's location. 

The familiar rectangle of light appeared in the middle of Mission Control, to be occupied by Jeffrey a few seconds later.

Bogg felt his mouth stretch in a wide, relieved grin. "Hey, kid."

Jeffrey gave him an answering smile. "Hey, Bogg."

"Have a good trip?"

The boy nodded. "Real smooth. This sure is a cool Omni. How long before all Voyagers get one like this?"

"As soon as we get a few more kinks worked out," Susan responded from her own HGT. "There's still a lot of variation in field performance. Can you describe your surroundings now, Jeffrey?"

"I think I'm in a forest," he replied, looking around at what only he could see. "Tall trees, lots of green. And I can hear running water, not too far away. Smells good too," he added with an accompanying deep breath. "All clean and pine-y. Reminds me of some of the places I used to go camping."

"How do you feel?" Bogg asked.

"Pretty good. I'm not dizzy or disoriented this time."

"His life readings are stable," Bryce announced. "And there's no interference with the signal." He glanced at his screen. "He's been there about three minutes. Is he ready to come back now?"

Bogg relayed the question to his partner, who shrugged. 

"Yeah, I think so. It's nice here but the sky's clouded over, like it's gonna rain any second."

"That's probably why everything's so green," Bogg remarked. "Okay, kid, we're gonna bring you home. Switch off the HGT."

"Got it." Jeffrey nodded and the rectangle of light winked out.

Seconds later, there was a blinding white flash just over the chalk circle and Jeffrey stepped out, grinning broadly.

Bogg crossed the room in a few swift strides and, heedless of his dignity or Jeff's, pulled the boy into a bear hug. Fortunately, Jeffrey didn't seem to mind and returned the embrace without reserve.

"You've got drops in your hair," Bogg observed, pulling back.

Jeffrey shrugged. "I told you it was gonna rain." He glanced over at Bryce. "So I can Voyage now, with Bogg?"

"Theoretically," the tech replied. "Give us a few more days to put the secondary safeguards in place. And we'd like to do another field test with you tomorrow--maybe ten or fifteen minutes."

"In the meantime," Susan said, coming forward, "you should go down to the infirmary and have the medics look you over, as a precaution."

"But I feel fine!" Jeffrey protested.

Bogg squeezed his shoulder. "Go anyway, just to make sure of it. We'll do something fun afterwards," he added.

"Like?"

"A picnic by the lake?"

"Deal," the boy agreed, after a judicious pause.

Bogg smiled and mussed his partner's hair. "I'll pick up the food while they're checking you out."

Jeffrey sighed but capitulated. Once he had stripped off all the retrieving devices and left Mission Control, Susan came up to Bogg, holding out a piece of notepaper.

"Phineas, Professor Garth wants to see us in his office. You too, Olivia," she added, nodding towards the other woman.

Bogg exchanged a surprised glance with Olivia. "Any idea what this is about?"

Susan shook her head. "I'm as much in the dark as you two. But I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

**--xxx--**

"Come in, come in!" Professor Garth, looking slightly greyer than when Bogg had last seen him, ushered all three Voyagers into his office. "And do make yourselves at home," he added, gesturing towards the armchairs grouped in a half-circle before his desk. 

Bogg waited until Olivia and Susan were seated before taking the remaining chair. To his relief, it was well-upholstered and sturdy enough to support a man of his size. He had seldom seen the inside of Garth's office but the atmosphere of practicality and plushy comfort was the same as he remembered.

"No doubt you're all wondering why you're here," Garth continued, sitting down behind his desk. "Well, there are a number of things I'd like to discuss with the three of you--most of them pertaining to the events of the last few days."

"You know what's been going on?" Bogg asked, leaning forward in his chair. "About Drake and the kid?"

The professor nodded. "Susan has kept me informed of the major developments. I apologize for my absence, but Academy business has taken up all my time until today. But I have read both of your reports on this matter, and now I should like to commend you all on the fine work you have done."

Bogg felt his face heating. Much as he appreciated the praise, he did not know what else he _could_ have done, as a Voyager or as Jeffrey's guardian. And the way he'd had to leave things with the boy's parents haunted him still, and he suspected it always would to some degree. "It was nothing--"

"On the contrary, your actions saved not only Jeffrey but preserved an objective that has become vital to our survival and evolution as Voyagers." Garth looked around at them all and smiled. "Have any of you heard of Operation Prodigy?"

Bogg shook his head as did Olivia, but Susan spoke up after a moment. "Operation Prodigy? Wasn't that one of Dr. Hartnell's pet projects?"

"Indeed it was," Garth confirmed with a nod. "Operation Prodigy was the brainchild of Dr. Patrick Hartnell, the late head of Mission Control." 

Garth was sliding back into lecture mode, Bogg observed. Not that he minded. After days of flying by the seat of his pants, relying on his instincts and Jeffrey's memories, it was a nice change to have things fully explained to him. And, unlike in his trainee days, he was prepared to listen to every detail, despite the enticing presence of not only Susan but Olivia in the room.

"Several standard years ago," the professor continued, "Dr. Hartnell submitted an important proposal to the Council of Voyagers. After due consideration, he was granted sufficient funding to modify the Omni's main search engine to locate possible candidates among children and adolescents." 

Susan's brow wrinkled. "You mean, he wanted us to _actively_ recruit children as Voyagers?" 

"He did not propose this lightly nor did we approve this without serious reflection," Garth told her. "A Voyager's life is difficult and demanding, even for an adult. But history is often cruelest to the youngest and most vulnerable. Wars, disasters, epidemics, even random accidents all leave orphans and foundlings. And so many of those young lives are blighted by tragedy, never reaching their full potential. Do not these children deserve a chance? A future of which their circumstances would otherwise deprive them? And if they can be trained and educated to serve the greater good . . ." He sighed, took off his eyeglasses to polish them. "The idea was to instill respect for the Voyager Code in this new generation at an early age, in hopes that they would be more inclined to uphold it as adults."

"A class of junior trainees," Olivia mused, her expression thoughtful. "Tricky but the idea's not without its merits. Look at what Jeffrey's accomplished."

"I assure you, we have. Indeed, his appointment as a Voyager started it all. Or rather," Garth amended, "it set the seal on what had already started, right under our noses!"

"What do you mean by that?" Bogg asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Jeffrey Jones was among the first to be located by the modified search engine."

Bogg blinked. "You mean, the Voyagers have had their eye on the kid all along, since before he was born?"

"Not quite that early," Garth corrected him. "But it so happens that many prospective Voyagers are monitored from the moment they begin to show certain--talents that would fit them for this calling. There was always a high probability that Voyager Jones would join our ranks one day and become a valued operative, though it seemed most likely that he would do so as an adult.

"Once he was orphaned, however, the probability rate increased exponentially, to the point where he became the test subject for Operation Prodigy. He met all the necessary criteria, being physically healthy, highly intelligent, and, despite the trauma of his bereavement, emotionally stable. And, of course, well-versed in history, because of his father's profession. The Omni's Central Processor ran several compatibility tests between his profile and those of various field agents, so that an appropriate mentor might be selected for him. And you, Voyager Bogg, were chosen for the task."

"Me?" Bogg was astonished. "I know you said before that I didn't end up in his room by accident, but . . . I was actually _handpicked_ for this, from the start?"

Garth smiled again. "Don't look so surprised, my boy! Surely the success of your partnership with Jeffrey attests to the appropriateness of the choice."

Success. Well, Bogg supposed he and Jeffrey _could_ consider themselves successful--they had carried out all of their missions to date, without serious or permanent setbacks. Even if they'd pulled off their first few assignments largely by trial-and-error--and most of the errors had been his, though he wasn't about to tell that to Garth.

"Dr. Hartnell's findings were compiled months before your first meeting with Jeffrey Jones," Garth resumed. "Owing to his unexpected demise, further funding for Operation Prodigy was suspended, and his successor evinced no interest in continuing it. So Hartnell's files were never presented to the Council--and Voyager Drake," Garth's voice took on a note of cold displeasure, "found and appropriated them for his own selfish purposes. He was unable to prevent the formation of your partnership, though, as you doubtless recall, he tried to undermine it in other ways. This latest attempt represents his most desperate gamble. And his least forgivable."

Bogg felt his mouth compressing in a hard line. "Yeah, I'd say attempted murder was pretty unforgivable." 

"If apprehended, he will be prosecuted fully according to our laws," Garth assured him. "In light of his previous treachery, his sentence is likely to be the harshest ever imposed. He has not only attacked a valued member of the Voyager Order but attempted to undermine the Order itself through deliberate sabotage."

Bogg frowned, doing his best to process what he had just heard. "You mean, Drake was trying to destroy Operation Prodigy by eliminating Jeff?"

Garth nodded. "That is my theory, which is shared by the rest of the Council. Without Jeffrey and his successful adaptation to a Voyager's life and responsibilities, Hartnell's project would have been permanently scrapped and no child ever recruited or considered for recruitment."

"All those lives." Susan shook her head. "All that wasted potential."

"Fewer people to question," Bogg realized. "Fewer people to resist, when Drake made his next play for power."

Susan shivered. "I knew he had to have some grandiose scheme in mind."

"Pretty ironic, though," Olivia remarked. "By going after Jeffrey and his parents the way he did, Drake actually ensured that Jeffrey would be recruited years earlier than expected. The exact opposite of what he probably intended."

"Yes, quite ironic," Garth agreed. "A pity that innocents had to perish in the cause of one man's blind ambition."

"Call it a tragedy," Bogg said tersely. "Because that's what it was."

"Drake's crimes against William and Katerina Jones will be weighed in the balance once he is taken into custody. Of that I can assure you, Voyager Bogg." Garth sighed, looking much older for a moment, then added more brightly, "But on a much pleasanter subject, I meant to ask--how is young Jeffrey coping, now that his timeline has been stabilized?"

"Oh, he's fine," Bogg replied, feeling his own mood lighten. "He had his first solo Voyage today and came through it like a champ. In fact--we're hoping we can be back in the field soon."

Garth nodded. "I am sure that once the last safeguards are in place, the two of you can be on your way. But if I don't have the opportunity to speak to you before you leave, I wanted to share some thoughts with you about Jeffrey's future."

"Like what, exactly?" Bogg tried not to sound apprehensive--no easy task given the strain of his previous mission.

Garth held up a placating hand. "Nothing to cause alarm, my boy. For the time being, it's been decided that matters are best left as they are, as far as you and Voyager Jones are concerned. Jeffrey is learning much from you in the field, and you have given him the emotional stability that he needs. _But_," he added, "there will come a time, perhaps in two or three years, when he will need more formalized instruction, which he would receive here, at the Academy. You are welcome to return yourself, perhaps as an instructor, while he finishes his training. And you'll want to discuss all this with him first, of course."

Bogg relaxed, the momentary surge of panic he had felt over the thought of parting from Jeffrey subsiding at Garth's words. Still . . . "Me, teaching a class?" He shook his head at the unlikely image.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Phineas," Olivia advised. "You've got a lot of practical experience that could really help our trainees."

Bogg blinked at this unexpected accolade from her.

"Not to mention your work with Jeffrey," Susan added. "That would certainly come in handy, if we really are recruiting child trainees now." 

Professor Garth nodded. "Operation Prodigy has been deemed a success, so there will certainly be other youngsters joining us soon. Voyagers like Jeffrey Jones are our future--and we will do all we can to protect that future and give it every chance to thrive."

**--xxx--**

Another afternoon by the lake, its clear blue tinted with ruddy gold. Jeffrey sat in what Bogg was coming to think of as _his_ particular spot, staring out across the water. Pausing a few feet away, the older Voyager studied his partner. To his relief, the boy appeared pensive rather than sad or angry. But Bogg knew how deeply this recent ordeal had affected them both--it would take time for things to settle down again, for the renewed grief to lose its edge. 

In the meantime, they had each other, which was no small comfort.

"Hey, kid!" he called, holding up the picnic hamper. "Medics throw you out already?"

Jeffrey looked up with a smile, shading his eyes with his hand. "They said I was good to go. What've you got there?"

Bogg strode over and set the hamper down. "A feast, according to the cafeteria manager. Fresh-squeezed lemonade, seedless grapes, pasta salad, and some of those chicken and provolone paninis Olivia told me you liked--"

"Olivia. Are she and Susan gonna join us?"

Bogg paused in his unpacking. "Uh, no. I asked both of them, thinking you wouldn't mind. But apparently they'd planned to go for coffee and girl-talk--by themselves." He shrugged a little too nonchalantly, reliving the weirdness of that moment. Both women had declined the invitation in near-unison, smiled brightly at his subsequent discomfiture, and walked off together, practically arm in arm.

"Susan and Olivia went off to dish the dirt, huh?" Jeffrey started to laugh. "Oh, boy! Sounds like you've got one blonde too many, Bogg!"

Bogg gave him a sour look, then felt his own mouth twitch upward in a reluctant grin. It seemed a long time since he'd heard the kid laugh, even it was at him.

"Yeah, well, let 'em have their 'girl-talk,'" he conceded. "_We've_ got food--and there's a lot to be said for guy-talk too, sometimes."

"Like?" Jeffrey glanced at him with raised brows. 

His mother's look, Bogg remembered with a bittersweet pang. "I'll tell you a little later," he promised, settling down on the grass to unpack their rest of their picnic. 

As they ate--the paninis were delicious--he gave the boy a full account of what Garth had told him. Jeffrey listened intently and seldom interrupted, a sure sign that his attention was engaged.

"So you see, kid--it's been in the cards since before we even met," Bogg concluded. "That you'd be the first of the junior Voyagers, and that more would follow once it was clear a kid could handle the job. What do you think of that?"

"Huh." Jeffrey looked as though he had bitten into something unfamiliar and was trying to decide if he liked the taste. "I dunno. I've never been a guinea pig before."

"Don't think of yourself as a guinea pig, think of yourself as a trail-blazer."

"A pioneer?"

"Yeah, kinda. Only with an Omni instead of a covered wagon."

Jeffrey fretted his lower lip as he thought. "You said it was in the cards. Does that mean we were always gonna be partners?"

"According to Professor Garth. Apparently, Mission Control thought we were compatible. And it looks like Mission Control got it right," he added with a grin.

"So sometimes the system works. Bogg, if I have to come back here someday to attend the Academy, would you come too?" There was an unmistakable wistfulness in Jeffrey's voice.

Bogg reached out an arm and pulled him close. "I might. Olivia suggested I give teaching a whirl--maybe I'd do okay with a practical course. But even if I stay in the field while you're finishing up your education, you know I'll come the minute--no, make that the second--you need me." His voice softened. "But you'll be a few years older by then, you might not need me so much. And maybe you'll want to spend more time with friends your own age. Your classmates."

"Maybe," Jeffrey conceded. "But that doesn't mean I won't want to spend time with you too."

Bogg smiled. "Ditto, kid. Let's wait and take things as they come, okay? For now and the near future, it's gonna be us again, just like it's supposed to be. "

Jeffrey rested his head against Bogg's shoulder. "Works for me."

Neither of them said much after that, but then they didn't need to. Once they had packed up the remains of their picnic, Jeffrey stretched out on his back and gazed skyward, his expression abstracted but not unduly disturbed. He'd been given a lot to think about, Bogg knew, and it would take a while for him to process all of it.

Likewise, Bogg himself had gotten plenty to chew over. Again and again, his thoughts returned to what Garth had told him about his part in all this. Kind of unsettling to learn that so much of his present existence had been predetermined. That almost from the start, he'd been singled out to mentor the first in a new generation of Voyagers. He, Phineas Bogg, former pirate, rogue, and ne'er-do-well, entrusted with the care of the brightest and the best.

And the task involved far more than he had ever imagined. He wasn't merely training a talented subordinate or helping a fine boy grow into the man he was destined to become. He had been given a piece of the future to protect, to guide, and to shape. And to cherish, though that was by far the easiest part.

Once he would have fled from such responsibility or accepted it grudgingly, seeing it as a burden. Now, he knew he would yield it to no one else, not without a prolonged and bloody fight. And he would do his damndest to prove himself worthy of it.

_Bring it on_, Bogg thought, unconsciously squaring his shoulders as though in acceptance of the trust laid upon him. _Bring it on._

Jeffrey was being unusually quiet. Glancing over at the boy, Bogg saw that he had fallen asleep, his curly head cradled in the crook of one arm, his lashes dark against his cheeks. For a moment, the older Voyager considered waking him, to share his new insights, then decided against it. After all the ups and downs of the last few days, the kid deserved some rest.

Smiling, Bogg stretched out on the grass beside his partner and lazily watched the sun's progress across the sky through half-closed eyes. Soon they'd be back in the field, solving problems, handling crises, facing the usual challenges of a Voyager's life. But whatever the future held, they still had this quiet interval, together.

Just for now, they had all the time in the world.

TO BE CONCLUDED


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: They say it's not over in opera until the fat lady sings, so here's the coda to our heroes' long and winding Voyage. A big thanks to everyone whose interest has kept this story alive for more than two years—I have deeply appreciated all of your comments, questions, and support throughout the writing of this epic. Later, I may post an Afterword, since a writer can't spend this long on a project without generating a lot of supplementary material, but for now, let me just say thank you again—and hope that you'll find the resolution of "A Stitch in Time" to have been worth the wait. 

Best regards,

Time & Tide

Same disclaimers apply.

_When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create_

_No trouble in thy breast. _

_Remember me, but ah! forget my fate._

--Henry Purcell

"Dido's Lament," _Dido and Aeneas_

EPILOGUE

_Two days later, VHQ time . . . _

Entering the infirmary, Bogg saw them sitting together by the window--the two heads, dark and fair, bent over Olivia's Omni.

"The translation unit's got about a ninety-nine point eight per cent accuracy rate," she was explaining. "So, as long as you're in the same time zone as the Omni, you can understand the language wherever you go."

"Wow." Jeffrey shook his head. "I never even guessed. Kind of embarrassing that I went all these places and never wondered why there weren't any problems talking to people!"

"You're not the only one," Olivia reassured him. "After a while, it's easy to take it all for granted, unless your Omni's destroyed or the unit breaks down--which doesn't happen often, I admit. But Voyagers do have to study some foreign languages just in case."

"Really old ones, like Latin and Greek?"

"Sometimes," she replied. "But more often, we study modern ones, like Spanish, Italian, and German."

"Don't forget French," Bogg pointed out as he came up behind them. "The language of diplomacy."

"Bogg, you know French?" 

The older Voyager preened at the incredulous note in Jeffrey's voice. "Well, I don't like to brag, but--"

Olivia hooted in derision. "Phineas, you stopped studying French as soon as you learned to say 'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi!'"

Jeffrey's brow furrowed. "What does 'Voulez-vous coucher--'"

Bogg reached down and put his hands over the boy's ears. "Not in front of the kid!" he warned.

Jeffrey tilted his head back and gave his partner a withering look. "If it's something to do with you and women, I can probably guess."

"Guess away," Bogg invited, removing his hands. "But I'm still not gonna tell you!"

Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "Then I'll find a dictionary or something." He turned back to Olivia. "Does the translation unit work the same if there are a whole bunch of languages in the area?"

She nodded. "The unit automatically defaults to the language that's most frequently spoken, but you can adjust the setting to compensate for different dialects or even a multilingual culture."

Jeffrey grinned. "That should come in handy if we ever Omni in on the Tower of Babel!"

"Been there, done that," Bogg informed him. "I'll tell you about it someday. But right now it's time for you for go and get ready. And don't forget to put on a tie!"

"Yeah, I know, I know," Jeffrey sighed. He rose with a martyred air and left the infirmary.

Olivia watched him go, smiling. "You've got a great kid there."

"Thanks, but I'm not sure I can take much credit for it," Bogg replied, sitting down on the edge of the nearest bed. "A lot of what he is comes from his folks, God rest 'em."

"I'd say part of it comes from you too. You can't foster a kid for almost two years and not exert some kind of influence." Her voice gentled. "He feels things very deeply--I could tell that after spending time with him--but he's also resilient. A lot of kids would've been completely crushed by everything he's lived through. I think you've held him together."

Bogg shrugged, trying to hide his pleasure at the compliment and his surprise that she had given it to him in the first place. "Well, he holds me together too--that's how it's supposed to be, with partners. I tell ya, though," he added, "I wouldn't do what I'm about to do for anyone _but_ Jeff: sit in a hard auditorium seat for three hours and listen to a bunch of people sing at me in a foreign language. Without subtitles. The things I do for love--and history!"

Olivia laughed. "I think I can do something about that." She reached for the silver Omni at his belt and flipped it open. "Watch and learn."

She had just finished adjusting the translation unit to decipher Italian even in a predominantly English-speaking location when Jeffrey reentered the infirmary. 

He had donned a navy suit, a little long in the arm but otherwise a decent fit, with a red and navy striped tie, and his dark curls gleamed with combing. He looked, Bogg thought, incredibly grown-up and heartbreakingly young at the same time.

Clearing his throat, he said lightly, "Nice tie, kid."

"Thanks. I even remembered to wash behind my ears too."

Bogg was too relieved by the reemergence of Jeffrey's smart mouth to do anything but roll his eyes. "Like I'm gonna check? C'mon, kid--we don't want to be late for curtain up."

**--xxx--**

_April 24, 1967_

The small theater--located well off Broadway--was called the Rialto, but any resemblance between it and the original was strictly coincidental. Within five years, Bogg knew, it and the other buildings on the block would be torn down to make way for something slightly more upscale.

But for tonight and a few subsequent evenings, it was the venue for a small, local production of _Le Nozze di Figaro, _with most of the parts being taken by voice students. Including a promising young soprano by the name of Katerina Rossini, who would be playing Susanna, Figaro's bride.

Closing his program, Bogg glanced at Jeffrey, sitting quietly beside him and leafing through his own program. If he felt strange about this evening, about seeing the woman he still felt he had failed somehow, he could only imagine how the boy felt.

But they were _supposed_ to be here. Once the last safeguards around Jeffrey's timeline were in place, Bogg had followed up a hunch he'd had ever since his Voyage to London in 1972. What he had found had given him considerable pause--was it kind or fair to do this to Jeffrey, after everything else he'd been through?--but in the end, he had shared his findings with the boy.

He should have known better than to think Jeffrey would shrink from this. He had paled visibly on hearing the news, but his eyes . . . they had glowed like someone getting a glimpse of heaven.

Bogg had quickly put away his own qualms and started making the necessary arrangements. Mission Control had agreed to lend him the 3-70-10 for this special excursion and Budgeting had advanced the funds they would need--not that that had amounted to very much. Bogg had also spent more time in the library than he had as a student, looking up what he would need to know about _Le Nozze di Figaro_.

And now here they were. Bogg had asked Susan if she wanted to join them, but she had shaken her head with a sad smile and declined the invitation. "I think this is something you and Jeffrey need to do alone, if you understand what I'm saying."

Bogg had understood more than she realized. Susan also had her regrets, her need to come to terms with what had happened, and he couldn't rush her through the grieving process any more than he could rush Jeff or himself. Work was her solace right now, so he left her to it.

The house lights dimmed, but Bogg could just make out the figure of the conductor, raising his baton in the orchestra pit. Seconds later, the first chords of the overture reverberated through the small auditorium. Bogg leaned back in his seat, sensed Jeffrey doing the same, and waited for the opera to begin in earnest.

The curtain rose at last on "Figaro" measuring with a ruler the place where his and Susanna's bed would be. Decent basso, Bogg decided after the first few notes of the aria and was doubly grateful that Olivia had tweaked the translation unit so he could understand the lyrics. Then he heard Jeffrey catch his breath and knew that "Susanna" had made her entrance, trilling with giddy delight over her wedding headdress.

For the next three hours, they sat spellbound. Although the sets were somewhat rickety and the costumes looked a little faded, as if they had been used for many other productions, none of that mattered once the singing began.

A young cast--no one appeared much older than thirty, even with wigs and make-up--that made up in vigor and raw talent what it lacked in experience. Bogg had known from Kathy's audition that she was talented but here, she sparkled, moving about the stage with poise and confidence, singing in a voice as clear as a bell. He understood now why Bill had thought his wife had the potential to be a diva.

Beside him, Jeffrey sat like a statue, absorbing every note and nuance of his mother's performance. When the curtain fell and the cast came forward to take their bows, he was one of the first on his feet, clapping wildly, his dark eyes aglow.

Towards the back, a few people began yelling, "Bravo, bravo!"

Jeffrey broke into a wide grin. "Bravi, tutti!" he shouted, his voice almost lost in the cheering crowd. "Bravissimi!"

Bogg grinned and suddenly had to blink his stinging eyes. 

It was a foregone conclusion that they would be going backstage.

**--xxx--**

"She'll be in here--in the green room," Jeffrey said, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. His heart was pounding so loudly he was surprised that no one could hear it, especially Bogg who was standing right next to him in the corridor.

His partner frowned, perplexed. "Kid, from what I can see, this room is painted white and yellow, not green."

Jeffrey smothered a sigh. "It's a theater term, Bogg. The green room is where the cast gathers after a performance. Although I think, maybe, a long time ago, they might have painted it green," he added placatingly. "Or maybe it was called that because they used to keep plants there. I asked my mom once and she didn't know the reason either. Anyway, the name stuck."

"Oh." The older Voyager still looked a little puzzled. "Well, whatever it's called, you ready to go in?"

Time to bite the bullet. Jeffrey squared his shoulders, took another deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be. Are you coming in too?"

"I'll come in, but I think I'd better stay in the background. Your mom and I aren't due to meet face to face until next year." Bogg looked at him closely, concern in the blue eyes. "Jeff, I know this isn't gonna be easy but--try to remember where you are, okay? And _when_ you are."

Jeffrey nodded. This would be the hardest part, he knew: he'd be seeing his mom again, but long before she became his mom. Before she'd married his dad, even, though Bogg had told him that his parents had met and were dating by now. He would be going to pay his respects to Katerina Rossini, the promising young soprano. No matter how much he longed to reveal himself to her, how starved he was to connect with her and his father, he had to remain a stranger here--to both of them.

For a moment, he felt as though his nerve might fail him, then he told himself not to be such a wimp. He had the chance to see his mother again, to talk to her--no way he was going to pass that up. Raising his head, he almost marched into the green room, dimly aware of Bogg following at a slight distance.

Nearly all the singers were surrounded by friends and fans. Threading his way through the crowd, Jeffrey eventually located his mother by her rose-colored costume (Susanna and her mistress, the Countess, had switched gowns in the last act). Several people were gathered around her, exclaiming and congratulating. Jeffrey heard her laughter as she accepted their praise with just the right mixture of appreciation and modesty. Her instincts when it came to people had been as acute as her ear for music.

He waited on the periphery and his patience was finally rewarded when the last of her well-wishers drifted away, leaving him with a clear view of her. Still smiling, she turned her head and her brows arched in surprise when she saw him standing there. "Well, hello there, young man," she said, her voice light and pleasant. "What can I do for you?"

Jeffrey swallowed, his mouth going dry and his carefully prepared speech flying right out of his head. He had almost forgotten how pretty she was, with her expressive brown eyes and her unruly dark curls, now tumbling about her shoulders. And so young--only twenty-two, less than ten years older than he was.

Kathy was still looking at him quizzically, and with a hint of concern now. "Are you lost?" she asked, more gently. "I can help you find whoever you're looking for."

Jeffrey recovered his wits, just in time. "Oh, no!" he said quickly. "That is, I was looking for you, Miss Rossini." He took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your performance. The whole opera was just great!"

"Why, thank you!" Her smile intensified, becoming warmer and more personal. "Have you seen many operas?"

"Just a few," Jeffrey admitted. "_Hansel und Gretel_ and _The Magic Flute_." He vividly remembered his mother taking him to matinees of both. "But I think I like _Le Nozze di Figaro_ best."

"So do I. Mozart's my favorite composer," Kathy replied. She cast a glance around the room and added in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Shh! Don't tell my family--they're all passionate Verdi fans."

Jeffrey found himself grinning in response. "Your secret's safe with me, Miss Rossini. Would you . . . would you please sign my program?"

"I'd be glad to," she assured him, accepting the program and the ballpoint pen he handed to her. "Whom shall I make it out to?"

"To Jeffrey--with a 'J."

"Jeffrey with a 'J,'" Kathy repeated as she dashed off her signature with a flourish. "There you go!" She handed the program and pen back to him, held out her hand. "I hope you'll go to see many more operas."

Jeffrey swallowed and took her hand. It felt warm, smooth, and firm--he hoped his own wasn't too sweaty. "I will--if you're in them." Prompted by an impulse that he could barely understand, he bowed over her hand and gave it a quick kiss, no more than the lightest brush of lips against fingers, before releasing it. 

Her velvety dark eyes widened, then softened. Stooping, she brushed a kiss against his own cheek--he could smell roses and stage-paint--and then straightened up, smiling at him so tenderly that his heart filled with love and pain. "Someday," she said, "you're going to break a lot of hearts--Jeffrey with a J."

"Kathy!" A man's voice, startlingly familiar, rose over the hum of conversation in the green room.

She glanced towards the voice, her whole face seeming to light up. "Over here, _caro_!" she called.

Following her gaze, Jeffrey saw his father, looking younger and slightly thinner, making his way towards them. Tempting as it was to linger, he knew it would be too risky. Taking a few steps to one side, he let the crowd swallow him up.

All the same, he couldn't resist peering around various shoulders to see his dad catch up his mom in a congratulatory embrace and swing her, laughing, in a little circle. Then, setting her down, he offered her a single red rose, which she accepted with a radiant smile. They might have been the only two people in the room--or the world.

Blinking back a mist of tears, Jeffrey said a silent goodbye to his parents and headed blindly for the exit.

**--xxx--**

Bogg caught up with his partner outside the theater. Jeffrey was leaning against a lamp post, his face hidden and his shoulders shaking silently. 

Aching for him, Bogg laid a hand on the boy's back, letting him know he was there.

Without raising his head, the younger Voyager choked out, "I'm okay, I'm okay . . . "

That was such an out-and-out lie that Bogg didn't even bother to contradict it. "Well, that's good, 'cause I'm not," he retorted and folded his arms around the boy. Jeffrey turned instantly and buried his face in the older Voyager's shoulder.

They stood like that for several minutes, taking what comfort they could from each other's closeness, then Jeffrey pulled away a little and fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket. Bogg stepped back, giving him the chance to pull himself together.

Eventually, Jeffrey shoved the crumpled handkerchief back in his pocket and glanced up at him. "They looked happy, didn't they? My folks."

"Yeah. Yeah, they did." 

The boy took a breath. "Like they had no regrets--or doubts, about anything."

Bogg reached out and laid a hand on Jeffrey's shoulder. "That's the only way to live, kid. Without regrets or doubts--or fears."

Their eyes met in a glance of complete understanding. Without a word exchanged, they both simply _knew_: however haunted the past or uncertain the future, life was in the moment. And at this moment, Bill Jones and Kathy Rossini were alive and together, with everything still before them. 

In the end, maybe that was all that anyone could ask.

Jeffrey straightened, raising his head. The moonlight played across the strengthening planes of his face, briefly revealing the man who would one day emerge from the boy. "From now on--I'm going to try to remember them like this. The way they were tonight, not like . . . "

Not like the accident, Bogg thought. Not like those terrible last moments in the burning camper. He squeezed Jeffrey's shoulder. "I know, kid. Listen--are you through here? I've got the Omni set for home . . ." He paused, wondering if "home" was the right term to use for VHQ.

Jeffrey smiled at him, closed a hand over his wrist. "Home's wherever _you_ are, Bogg. Let's go."

Overhead the breeze sent a fleecy veil of clouds scudding across the night sky and the face of the full moon, bright as a new-minted coin. Seconds later, the clouds had moved on and the silver light poured down upon a deserted street.

THE END

_Di pianti di pene_

_Ognor non si pasce,_

_Talvolta poi nasce_

_Il ben dal dolor:_

_E quando si crede_

_Più grave il periglio,_

_Brillare si vede_

_La calma maggior._

--Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

"Un moto di gioia," _Le Nozze di Figaro_

TRANSLATION

From weeping, from pain

one cannot always live

Sometimes then is born

a good thing out of sorrow.

And when one believes

the danger is greatest,

one sees shining

a greater calm.

-- John Glenn Paton


End file.
